Muggle Born
by GMad
Summary: AU. HP!verse. When a freak accident leaves Quinn without most of her Hogwarts memories, it will be up to Rachel to retrieve them… but in doing so, she will have to invade the most private corners of her best friend's mind.
1. Chapter 1

**NOTES:** I took a few liberties with the HP universe, one of the main ones being making Hogwarts american instead of british –so the american Glee Kids can go there, and so I don't have to research british speech. Bear with me, english is my second language. Also, I opted out of using McKingley teachers, because Figgins will never do Dumbledore justice. Sue and Snape could spar though.

I

When I gazed up to the set of magical moving stairs leading to the headmaster's chambers, watching the slow and heavy labor of readjusting tons of stone and marble, the sudden realization struck me: it doesn't make sense that they move, it just makes the climb harder.

Sometimes magic is too much to handle.

I breathe deeply, trying to kill the useless bickering in my head, focusing on the present. One foot, one step – that should do.

It's what I should have done at the test. Breathe. Breathe until I cleared. I did not accomplish any. Now in my memory I picture the gothic typography, the questions worded on the paper in front of me. Piece of cake they were, really. Not to boast, but I've had the best GPA since I came to Hogwarts. Exceeding expectations was a constant way of describing me. The pride of Slytherin. The points master. Drama and Glee co-captain. HBIC. Quidditch captain, seeker, MVP. "Wings" Fabray, the swiftest angel. I laughed when Rachel told me what that one was about. An angel.

Angel. Rachel. I don't want to think about her.

I conjunre the sense of burning calves, and the image of this damn stairs extending into seemingly infinite heights.

A few minutes later and I'm almost there. I know because I'm sweating in places, like a hog about to be turned into bacon. This much perspiring must be an omen, given that I'm in prime perfect shape. That is a fact people always notice. A reality that people always compliment. I've had to treat flocks of owls on Valentine's because of it. But this written compliments are not what I want. Not right now. Instead of relishing their quantity, all I want is one of those stupid love letters from a specific source. A five foot three tall specific source. With bangs and odd animal sweaters below the Slytherin hood. With this delicious short skirts that must be jinxed with a shrinking spell. With a voice that could make a dementor smile until it's face splits.

I keep wanting the impossible. The more I want it, the farther the object of my desires gets. It's a mess.

Stop. Just stop it, Fabray. The steps. The test. Dumbledore. That is all that concerns you.

I've been in Dumbledore office before under various circumstances, both bad and good. This was not one of the good ones.

"Quinn, I'm glad to see you're well."

I'm not well. In a dictionary of antonyms, on "well" there is a picture of me – sweating. He needs to make use of his glasses immediately.

"Yeah... um..."

"Oh, I thought you were already used to this. Please come in."

I look around the office. Kooky as kook can be, like him. If I ever have an office of my own, I would like to decorate it some of this gadgets. As if. I don't see myself in an office in the future. In fact, I simply cannot see the future at this point. I can't think of anything happening beyond this room. I walk up to his desk, catching a glimpse of the pensieve.

"Would you like a chocolate frog?"

Like I need a trigger. What the hell is wrong with adults? Chocolate frogs. What does that have to do with anything we are supposed to be discussing? Besides, Rachel loves those damn things. Loves as in I had to nurse her back from stomach cramps because of them. Cramps that threw her into full spoiled little girl mode, all needy and cuddly. And I went gooey. Gooey, for Christ's sake. So if he gives me one of those choco bastards I swear I'm sectumsempra-ing it into oblivion.

But... yeah, normalcy. Fake it, Fabray.

"No thanks, Sir. I'm fine."

"Not even for Rachel? I know from Mrs. Pomfrey that she indeed likes them... a lot."

I think my eye is twitching. Normalcy. Not sweating hands. Not pulsing neck. Not feeling like you are changing colors in front of the school's headmaster. Normalcy.

Jesus, help me! You were muggle born too!

"She got sick once..."

He's just looking at me. With those century old eyes, like warm moons. Knowing. Too knowing. Any other time they would appease me. After all I've been through with my apocalyptic teenagery, he's truly been a non bigoted, non ignorant or dissapointing, non bullying or domineering, non chauvinistic schmuck, father-like figure. But right now I'm strung too high, because of that stupid test, and the stupid non breathing, and the stupid perfect answers that float around the memories of the quill that did not move, not even to ink my name in the paper. A perfect seven year record, even through turmoils, lied in invisible ruins. I gave my best until I freezed. It is just like when I looked at the moving stairs. It doesn't make sense.

"Maybe we should cut to it, Sir."

I look at his face. He doesn't flinch. He's not surprised. Just amused, as always.

"You don't look like you want to talk about it yet..."

"But you still called me. To banter. I'm good with patterns, sir, and this exchange is just a classic turned cliché between us."

That tasted bitter and dry. I should just go into the gym and punch something... again. He smiles, though not with his eyes.

"Patterns are meant to be broken by the ones who can grok them."

He sure knows how to throw me off.

"So you read Heinlein?"

"Of course, since you recommended it. I had always thought Hogwarts needed to delve more into muggle culture, and your spirited and insightful contributions to the community has had one of the greatest and most beneficial impacts I've ever seen. Muggle studies population has tripled over the last two years, and much of it is thanks to you and Rachel."

He keeps bringing her up, like she was the key of something I really don't want to unlock.

"Yeah... a great contribution everybody can grok."

"From one of our current best students..."

For a Fabray it should never be strange to snap at the face of kindness. This last year has re-introduced me to that.

"... Who epicly failed at the NEWTs! And now everything is down on the upside. Snape won't look me in the eye, and the other teachers are either excesively concern or scratching their heads to baldness. And the students? They just stare like this is a bone mauling car crash that's left me paraplegic. The school newspaper is having a field day!"

"Despite Rachel angry letters..."

"Stop it!"

Oh dear God, please make that a loud thought.

"Why? I think her chivalrous demeanor is worth mentioning."

God, are you deaf?

"Just... this is not about her. I froze, ok? I couldn't... write – anymore. I'm sorry if that has caused you to feel dissapointed or confused. Trust me, if it doesn't make sense to you, to me it's a TriWizard riddle, only that I would take flesh eating mermen and pissed off dragons over this in a wink. I would even take explaining to my father..." my voice trembles "... what a TriWizard is over this."

He is concerned. I can feel it the weight of his preocupation. It's exhausting, and exasperating. I get a keen sense of my feet and the ground, and how much I need to bolt out of here.

"Quinn, there is no need for you to be this stressed about a test. Given your exceptional track record, many teachers, including Severus, are willing to argue your case to the test's authorities should you wish to retake it."

Nasal congestion. My throat tightens and my jaw clenches. I don't want to cry. I won't. This is not the way my life is supposed to go, this is not what fricking Quinn Fabray does!

"Well, there lies the problem, sir, because that is the last wish I'm wishing right now."

The room of requirement is empty, like every other night for this last two weeks, and I'm glad. Truly glad. To avoid friday night parties, full of beer and gossip and drunken dances. To avoid watching Santana deadpan, annoucing to the underclassmen she hasn't beat the shit out of me because she really wants to see that Griffindor jerk, Finn, ballbusted when we win the House Cup the way we won the Quidditch Cup from them. To avoid anything that reminds me of exams, of my recent inadequacies. To avoid Rachel and her three months boyfriend, the said jerk. To avoid whatever brings the whirlwind of memories back.

I keep wanting the impossible.

I remember that night was not my best at the Quidditch field. It was the final game in the season. The epic battle of the archrivals: Slytherin versus Griffindor. My head should've been on the strategies we built during my almost four years as the team's captain. I had lead the team to victory in all those occations. Yet the cold rain fell over over brooms and quaffles, over zelous players exterting their bodies for the win, and over my absent mind. I was lingering over my broom, zoning out most of the game. Thank God Santana covered well for my iddle leadership, calling all the necessary plays in time. She even sent some bludgers my way to smack me back to reality. I didn't resent her for it. In other circumstances, I would have chastised this kind of behaviour with a hammer of force the house of Slytherin has come to both worship and fear. I have never tolerated nonsense. But this time the snitch could've been tugging at my ear and I still would've done nothing.

The thing is I was looking for Rachel in the stands, eyeing for her in the Slytherin crowd. I wanted to see her in her cute emerald scarf and gloves, forgetting her vertigo and jumping around, singing Slythering battlecries, and screaming and faux cursing at faults. I wanted this game to be like last year's, when we won the finale against Hufflepuff and celebrated together until the next morning. I wanted to forget how much time had passed since we last talked in december.

But she was not there, and I feared to look at the Griffindor crowd and find her, a little green dot in a sea of red. Cheering for her captain boyfriend, who I also, inexplicably, dated a while back, on our fifth year. That manchild of a lousy date, self-involved brat, slumbering doofus, awful wet kisser Finn Hudson.

On came the bludger, and the back pain, and Santana yelling "get your angsty gay shit together, Fabray, and chase the fucking snitch before I...". The snitch. I was there tangling myself in a complicated mess of thoughts when all I had to do at the time was one simple thing. That was all I had to think about. I steered the broom to my left and dashed. I had to outfly Brittany – who was already closing on it – because I knew Santana didn't had it in her to throw a Bludger her way. I became pissed. So pissed. At Santana and her traitorous crush. At Brittany and her actual effectiveness as a seeker, of all things. At that idiotic dull giant that tongued Rachel everytime he greeted her at the dinning room. At that excruciatingly adorable girl, and how she was tearing me apart with her stupid divided loyalties.

I chased that winged devil with every inch of my adrenaline pumped body. I got pass Britt, tailing the damn thing, evading the bludgers that the imbecilic red giant sent my way. Then the mischievous ball went for a swan dive, and I followed. The grassy soil was coming dangerously close with every passing second. It couldn't wait. I extended my arm against the crushing wind. My fingers clutched the golden feathers in slow motion. That was the moment my eyes closed, and they shoudn't have. I saw her kissing kim behind my eyelids, like a painful movie reel. The ball in my hand didn't matter, neither the winning points. That image burned. It hurt more than bruising all over. I managed a last minute maneuver, and just rolled over the field, thinking of them at the stupid Valentine's glee performance, where he serenaded her with a tacky One Direction song, and she smiled the whole way through.

The physical damage was nothing too out there for Quidditch. I stood up and dusted off. We won. The team came and carried me on a victory stroll, Santana reveling in the lurch's apparent bad sport. But I kept staring at the stands until they fell out of sight.

Later that night, far along into the Slytherin celebration party, the common room's door opened. She was standing there, next to him. Suddenly I didn't feel victorious. The room went dead silent, as if everyone was expecting a scene to unfold. Rachel didn't move, she didn't do anything. She just stood there, pleading something with her eyes.

I couldn't help myself. I'd had a few beers earlier, and there wasn't any coolness left in me to play up. I got angry, and when I'm angry like how angry I was at that, my brain shuts down whatever rational logic and politeness I can muster.

"This party is only for Slytherins and Slytherin's sympathizers. You and your doughnuts habits can never come in, Hudson. And you..."

I'm so sorry, Rach, little star, that this is what I had to say after three months of cordiality and distance.

"... you should've known were your loyalties stood before ever showing."

Santana facepalmed so hard, I think that's what sunk her back and made her dissappeared among the whispering crowd. I felt a cold pang in my stomach, then turned around and walked away, to the far back of the common room. Rachel did not come in.

The Slytherin party continued unscathed after my little scene. The students were happily chatting, recreating the game, blowing little things out of proportion to embroider the tale of our heroic victory. But my mood was ruined. I took a seat next to rest of the team, and grunted at anyone who tried to start a conversation or make a drunken pass. I sipped my beer in a bitter silence full of wrathful inner dialogue that I couldn't shut up even after the celebration wrapped.

It was almost five in the morning when Rachel came back. I was a raging insomniac, still yapping inside my head, recalling the list of names Santana made up for Hudson to use during Quidditch practice. I heard her entering the room, sloppily tiptoeing, and closed my eyes as the little tapping of her steps came closer to my bed. It was one of those recurrent nights were I wished she wasn't my bed neighboor. I was still angry at her, and now shame percollated into the mix as well, making knots in my gut. I could not handle the thought of her at the moment, much less any kind of close proximity. I fought to regain some kind of self control and fake my sleep, concluding she would not think of bothering an exhausted athlete. But, as it always happens to me around her, my logic failed.

Of course, I didn't think it would fail this much. She crawled into my bed beneath the comforter, her sole presence warming the sheets. My heart raced like it wanted to escape tearing through my chest cavity. My brain started claiming sensory overload and aborted rationality. There was no barrier between her and me that would help me keep my sanity. When my back registered her fingers, even through the t-shirt, my pulse stopped. She massaged my back a little, then surrounded me with her arms.

This was too much. The spooning. Her nose apparently sniffing my hair.

Then she slurred.

"We need 'o talk, Quinn."

Her breath smelled like butterbeer. Maybe Griffindor had a consolation party. Or maybe that bastard wanted to accelerate the process of getting into her pants to consolate himself. I whiplashed from panic to indignation. I wanted to inquire about her inebriation, but the Fabray ego was still getting in the way. It was mad at her, and I couldn't look past it this time. So I continued faking.

"Quinn... Quinn?... Quinn, I will grab your pretty ass if you don't answer..."

Maybe she drank something more than butterbeer.

I prayed for her to be so smashed that her inner GPS would never find my ass, not even with a compass. Drunk and grabby Rachel was not a thing for the faint of heart, and mine was already debating between a burial or cremation.

"Quinn, I know you're awake 'cause you're mad and you never go to sleep mad 'cause this big head of yours likes to rant and rant and it only shuts up when I sing to you... and I wanna sing to you but you have to talk to me first, Quinn... 'cause we haven't really talk in three months... three months, Quinn! And you don't even want to study with me, you don't care about glee anymore... you're a ghost on drama club, always reading the same page of the same book... This isn't you Quinn. It's like you forgot we're friends Quinn... and we will always be because when I was scared the first time we rode the Hogwarts Express you made me promise I wouldn't be a crybaby if... if..."

She was trying not to be, really.

"... if you bought me a chocolate frog that, you reassured me, was vegan friendly because it was magic chocolate, and I became addicted to those things... because you just spoil me and then get mad... Why are you so mad, Quinn? I swear I didn't caused the Legilimency thing on purpose... we were sloppy with that... I'm really sorry if that what is freaking you out... I really thought Finn would solve that... you know me, I get stupid sometimes... so stupid..."

She sobbed quietly in my back, holding me tighter. My ego died a little, tears stang my still closed eyes. I didn't have it in me to tell her to go to her own bed, but I couldn't do anything else, so I just waited for her to fall asleep.

When the sun came through the curtains, I disentangled myself from her and left.

That was enough for me to start avoiding common rooms, the library, the glee and drama practices, the Muggle Pop Culture Studies Club meetings, the dinning room, and every other Rachel related activity. I became a hermit, sneakier than Filch, and would only be seen in public during class. I also moved my stuff to the room of requirement, and started sleeping there. It was not long before my odd behaviour, coupled with the party incident, soon became Hogwarts new gossip protein. It propagated like a wildfire as the first week post Slytherin victory passed. Santana was trying to give me my space, so the first week she just looked in my general direction, but never approached. Nevertheless, patience is a foreign concept to her, and by the second week she could not hold it in anymore. On wednesday, she tugged me by the arm into an empty classroom and closed the door behind her, loudly.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Fabray?"

"What the hell are YOU doing? I have to get to class and you're making me late, Lopez."

"I just want to know what the fuck is going on in your pretty peroxide head, Q. 'Cause failing the NEWTs? Seriously, you fucking brainiac? You could have done them as shit faced as Berry came in on saturday morning without breaking a sweat. And don't get me started on this nauseating lesbo drama you and her gots going. My gag reflex is threatening a Linda Blair outbreak everytime your stupid asses want to jump each others bones and instead do a fucking TLC/Gay Broadway duet that makes the first years spew rainbows!"

"So am I stupid or a brainiac, Santana? You know what? You have no place telling me all of this when you have never been able to be true with your feelings. In the seven years we've been at Hogwarts, you've been putting out to any pair of pants that crossed your way. You even slept with Hudson last year. But you can't even invite Brittanny to our study group, and you fricking ignore her in glee. So why don't you just shut your hypocritical mouth up and let me get to my classes!"

I tried to bypass her, but she pushed me away from the door, pissed as hell.

"What for? So the teachers can stare at your fucking failure? So Berry can gay sigh her way through the rest of the year? So saggy man tits can tongue his way into her skirt while you fucking do shit?"

What I saw at that time wasn't red... it was blood crimson.

"Well, apparently Brittanny will always prefer being with a chauvinistic cripple over you!"

I jumped her, my frustrations bursting as I pinned her to the floor. She slapped me hard across the face and pushed me aside. We kept struggling against the desks, wrecking the classroom as we went on. I still don't know how I managed not to outright punch her. Points to my chivalry, stitches to my forehead.

Despite the cut on my lip and the heavy bruising, the worst part was when McGonagall found us. She hit us with a paralizing spell when we wouldn't stop fighting, and she called it off only after scolding us so hard my self esteem almost flatlined. Then she took us to the infirmary. I still don't know if the twitchiness was a remnant of the spell, or the indignation of our teacher seeping in. We wouldn't hear the end of it over Mrs. Pomfrey ministries, and Slytherin lost so many points that afternoon that when I later saw the lurch giving me a proud smile, instead of HBICing it out of his teeth, I had to leave class.

After that Santana and I stopped speaking, and I kept sleeping in the room of requirement. Or at least trying to sleep. Too many thoughts plagued my brain to ever rest well, no matter how comfy the room's bed was.

I needed to do something. To somehow sort this mess out.

I threw myself on the bed, still in my Slytherin hood. The thing with Dumbledore did not go as well as I wanted. Guess that, though my acting skills have improve, my faking skills have gotten worse. I know one short person I can thank for that.

"God, I know you're pissed that I'm a christian witch. I know your average twelve year old never prayed to do well in Charms class. I thought we had already put that behind us, you loving everyone for who they are, and me keeping my faith because scientology is too fishy for me. Maybe I'm asking for too much. Or you know? Maybe I'm not. Maybe it's you who suck. Because you give me the gift of magic, then throw me in a household where that's heresy. And you give me a freaking druken zealot of a father..."

Tears stream.

"... And then, as if it wasn't enough already, you make me... tingle... when she's around. And –as if it wasn't mortifying enough– how do you top that? You make her date that idiot Hudson just after the best Legilimency freak accident ever known to the wizarding world. You, and you alone, made sure to create a constantly angry christian witch who can't even fricking focus enough to use the intelligence you gave her. It's too much for me. I need to be able to not think in meshes. I need to empty my head!"

A noisy thud came from behind my spot. I almost screamed, leaping from the bed like a tweaked cat, death gripping the covers. I prayed, ironically, for it not to be Filch, or a bladder ridden Dumbledore. Wiping my tears, I sneaked around the cluster of shenanigans surrounding the bed, trying not to give more of my presence away. There weren't extra noises. I reached for my wand, and mustering all the courage I had left, I turned to look over the rubble of stuff.

No undesirable adults. No intrusive wandering students. Just it, in all it's fountain like gloriousness.

"So you finally show some mercy..."

The pensieve.


	2. Chapter 2

NOTES: I had to tweak some minor things in the timing department, so sorry for that. I know this fic is starting a little angsty, but that won't be for long. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it.

II

"So you and Quinn aren't talking since when now?"

Whatever I can seize on Kurt's pitchiness is too vague. Interest. Exasperation. Desire to make small talk over the lingering dead minutes before glee. Or maybe it is his innate animal craving for gossip. However it may be, I find myself in an unsuitable mood to engage him. Other thoughts are distracting me. For instance, I'm still wondering if Quinn will be absent for practice. Again.

The choir room is deserted with the exception of us. A typical setting would deem this an aberration. It is not unusual to have half the set of glee clubbers discussing all things Hogwarts at this hour. Tina would be chattering with Artie, Brittanny and Mercedes over the latest Houses' buzz. Kurt and Blaine would debate over the best brands of hair products. Mike, Sam, Puck and Finn would male bond over some overly violent war video game. Santana would send death glares to Artie while spewing her characteristic verbally abusive comments towards the eager club's fans gathered at the door. Then Quinn would reprimand her for mistreating the underclassmen, slightly interrupting my musings on how we should do a Funny Girl Medley for the bi-monthly Hogwarts' glee performance assembly.

The joyful ambiance of the club had dwindled over the last three months; and since Quinn recent truancies, it has become so disheartening that I am sure our members are considering spending their valuable time on other extracurricular activities.

This club is in desperate need for their co-captain to show up. Quinn has to show up.

There are still twenty minutes left until our scheduled warm ups, so I should put on my show face. Lead by example and lighten up the place. As first co-captain, it is my cross to bear. I cannot let this club crash down on the premise of Quinn's disinclination to perform her duties.

"You can only sigh so much before cracking the ozone with your teenage despair; and, in case you haven't noticed, I need the ozone because the relationship agreement between my tan and the sun is as grisly as yours and Quinn's day-time melodrama of a friendship."

I could not help the glare I sent his way. That last comment felt like a criminal stab right through my feelings.

"I think Quinn and I are inmensely more relevant than an inane tanning metaphor, Kurt. And commeting on the actual subject, it is not as if I can help it. She vehemently refuses to talk to me. I don't understand what is going on with her since..."

"... the introduction of your new hunky giant of a beau into the picture?"

"What? No! It is down right ridiculous to assume Finn is somehow the source of our current state. I mean, she and I were still talking while I was dating him."

"As if grunting while reading counts as any kind of talking. Or are you two trying telephatic means of communication nowadays?"

A rush of blood warmed my cheeks as I flashback to last year's Legilimency incident. My hands sweat while my mind turns into a kaleidoscope of extremely gratifying, yet vexing, imagery. I feel inflamed, even in the cool air of spring, and thoroughly uncomfortable in Kurt's presence. It would mortify me forever if he – if anyone – ever found out about it. So I will myself to somehow stop that line of thought. I need to stay on track. To perfect my comeback. To think of Finn.

"We took defining decisions for the glee club and drama club with that grunting, sir."

Not my best quip, but sufficient.

"You mean she nodded to whatever you planned without question, and swayed in the background like a drone. For Anna Wintour's sake, she hasn't sung a solo since November! All she did was read through her entire book collection, and now she doesn't even do that because she never comes to glee."

There was nothing I could say to that, it is impossible to argue with facts. I started fidgeting with my hair. My head was feeling in dire need of analgesic.

"Seriously, how long has it been since you last saw her?"

I sighed again. It was really hard not too. I was doing my best not to burst in ugly sobs over Kurt's lap.

"Yesterday at Filch's class. She looked a little pale."

"Are you sure she's..."

"... staying at the room of requirement? I know she is there Kurt, but it has always been futile to seek her when she's bent on hiding. Plus, she was so mad the after the game, as if I had betrayed her, that I doubt she would acknowledge my existence."

It was carved in my memory, the look she gave me. So much anger, and disgust. I disgusted her. She could not even spare me a lenghtier scolding. I would have gladly taken that, if it meant she cared a little more than she did. I should be aware by now that my expectations tend to antagonize reality, with reality winning by a landslide on most opportunities. The door was shut in my nose. I was left standing outside of my own common room, next to Finn, like some traitorous garbage not to be bothered with. Tears poured out in waves of sadness and frustration. And he held me, but that just made it worse. It was not him who I wanted to hold me. She was behind that door, disgusted.

"You weren't at the Griffindor stands, were you?"

That snapped me back.

"No! Of course not. Why does everyone thinks that? That was just an awful rumour."

As much as Quinn wants to believe that, I did not betrayed my house by cheering for our sworn sports rivals. I simply got caught in a dilemma, because I had to be supportive of him somehow. Girlfriends are supposed to do that.

"I already told you I went with Tina and..."

"... Blaine?"

He scoffed, his skin turning a mad shed of pink. I managed to supress a smile. This club was filled with so many romantic epic fails. Quinn once told me this club should be renamed into The Hogwarts School's Lonely Heart's Club Band. Then she grabbeb her telecaster, and started singing with her melodious – yet at times sharp – voice a tailored version of the lyrics of that Beatles' classic. Those were some good times.

He sneered at my lack of immediate response.

"Don't give me that look, Kurt. It is well within your knowledge that you are both dear to my heart. Just because you broke up over a silly argument doesn't mean I'm going to withdraw my friendship privileges from any of you."

Suddenly he finds his cuticles interesting.

"Anyway, you went with them, so you were at the Hufflepuff's stands?"

"Yes, I was there."

"Because you couldn't pick a side? Quinn, or your three months' boyfriend."

The hostile subtext was totally undeserved. Finn was a competent boyfriend, worthy of the lenght of our courtship.

"Please, be more respectful of Finn. I consider those three months an accomplishment, and proof of our standing as a mature, prosperous and durable couple."

"Oh yes! Why don't you tape that and play it in your iPod at night?"

"Why are you being so insensitive?"

"In case you haven't noticed, you are the one who is being insensitive."

"Why, because I still like Blaine?"

"Not to me, to Quinn."

I was getting riled up. He was pushing all the wrong buttons, for who knows what reasons.

"What do you mean by that? I have been nothing but sensitive to her. I have done everything in my power to reach out to her. She's the one that's been avoiding any kind of possible contact. I even sang Stevie Nicks' classic "Talk to Me" to her..."

"Yes, you even pulled the eighties bangs."

"... Though it is not within my usual musical choices. I have ran out of ideas. Everytime I try to get to her it's like fraternizing with a brick wall!"

He laughs mirthlessly. I'm seriously considering withdrawing my frienship privileges from him.

"Yes, you're so sensitive Rachel. Hiding in neutral stands, so you don't have to pick cheering for a fling over your best friend since third year. So sensitive you give up before getting a response. So sensitive you flaunt that big doofus in her presence at every chance you get."

I need to grab something. I need to occupy my hands before I give in to my wish of touching him with my fist. Forcefully.

"I am not flaunting Finn in anyone's presence. And in case you are forgetting, she is Quinn Fabray. The Quinn Fabray. She can get anyone she wants whenever she wants. If she wanted Finn, she could have him, there's no questioning of that. But she has never claimed him. And I'm her best friend, so I'm sure she would have told me if she was still romantically interested in Finn before I agreed to date him!"

"Oh my God! It is not him she's interested in, you crazy pint-sized spaz!"

"Then who? Did she tell you something?"

"Girl, if you can't tell by now, that is your problem. I don't know which one of you is more myopic."

He stands up, his chair making a jarring noise.

"I feel indisposed for glee. If you'd excused me, I'm leaving."

He marches his designer boots to the door in a haste, colliding with the incoming Finn. This session was not planning on getting better, apparently. It is almost ten minutes to practice. Finn waves at me, smiling his boyish lopsided smile. I try to feel less miserable. I try to put on my show face. He usually can't tell when I'm using it.

Quinn would spot it right away.

"Hey, Rach!"

I hear his voice and it's over. Now I feel indisposed for glee.

No. I need to power through this. Quinn and I worked too hard to build this club, and take it to competition level. I'm co-captain. I will not be insensitive to this club needs. I will smile through this even if my cheeks cramp.

He hunches over, closing the stratospheric gap between us, to greet me with a kiss. I wanted so bad not to think on how much of a inadequate kisser he is, but I have extraordinary evidence in my own experience to prove it. I dodge his lips, promptly hiding my face in his neck, and hug him. He hugs me back. We stay like this for a while, then seat down on the chairs. There is no sign of anyone else coming today.

"How's everything?"

Ghastly. The universe it's been feeding me hell on a spoon since January, and it's already March. But it is not like you could help.

Ugh! Stupid cynic inner monologue.

"Y'know, I just found out my NEWTs grades, they posted them today. I don't think my score it's gonna be enough to be an auror though."

Rachel Berry, you can do this. Be sensitive. Be a sensitive girlfriend, worried about your challenged boyfriend's academic future.

And stop calling him challenged inside your head.

"Um... I'm sorry about that, Finn. I'm sure you gave your best. You could keep studying and retake it later."

"Really?"

Quinn. I have to stop thinking about her too. About her insanely good girlfriend potential.

"Em... yeah... I mean yes."

Because it is not going to happen. Because it was an accident, and it is one-sided.

"I saw your score too. Number one. You're so smart and awesome."

I zoned out, remembering the day we took the NEWTs. A white snowy November morning. The sun light reflected over every snow covered surface. It was as beautiful as the fact that Quinn and I were still talking. I was having an anxiety attack, feeling my entire future life was dependent on my capacity to ace this tests. She grabbed my hand and I felt steadied. She told me she was not going to bother with wishing me good luck, because success was carved in my destiny. It was as inevitable as me conquering Broadway in style. Then she held me. I felt a fluttering in my belly, then blushed to my neck. I stopped breathing and heard it. Her heart was hammering at an incredible speed. It was soothing.

"Quinn helped me a lot."

"You cheated with Quinn?"

That sounded so... dirty. He did not meant it that way, but my state of mind was more than willing to twist it into that.

"I'm appalled that you would think that of me, Finn. I have never cheated a test in my life. She's just been tutoring me for a long time now."

I hoped I did not appeared as unraveled as I felt.

"Well, she wasn't even on the list. Guess it didn't work out for her."

How am I dating this jerk? What was I thinking when that awful idea hit me.

"She could've taken the first place on the list if she had wanted to! She's the most brilliant mind in Hogwarts, not only now but in generations! You need to drop your stupid rivalry with Quinn because she is my friend, and you are not going to make me pick sides."

I stood up and stormed out of the choir room, holding a scream of frustration that could have caused him deafness.

"Whoa! What was that for?"

I'm standing in front of the Fat Lady's portrait, exhaling a thick vaporous mist as I level my heartbeat from insane to humane. Mad dashing from the third floor quarters to the common room in the Griffindor Tower was more of an athletic feat that my rage had me expecting.

"Are you lost?"

The rubenesque woman in the portrait is giving my green colors a questionable look. It is indeed uncommon for a Slytherin to be wandering in Griffindor's territory, but there was someone I had to pay a visit, and it was urgent. I'm still seething over the missing glee practice. Over Kurt's words. Over Finn's nonexistent tact. My disposition to face in a squabble with a talking picture is sorely lacking.

"I'm certainly not. _Lilliput_."

Her eyes almost escape her sockets. She always does this when I come here by myself. Makes me wonder if pictures are also prone to memory loss.

"But you are not a member of Griffindor. How could you produce the password?"

"Inside sources. Now open up!"

She sniggered before turning to open the passage.

Inside the common room a private guy celebration seemed to be underway. The smell of butterbeer, red cups splattered on every surface, the loud rockn'roll reverberating off the walls, the heavy laughter, and the clear lack of any kind of feminine touch. It all spelled one thing: Puckerman.

"Rach! My Jew Princess..."

He stood up from the improvised poker table, taking a last sip from his beer jar before coming over, urging the other –visibly ridden with losses– guys to continue without him.

"What brings you to the Puckasaurus lair?"

He batted his eyebrows and leered up and down. I slapped him in the arm.

"Oh babe, how did you know I like it rough?"

I was about to proceed with a disciplinarian lambaste, but he smiled that smile that indicated he just wished to diffuse a bit of my discernible funk. I let it slide and allow him to guide me to a private spot near the windows, away from the noise.

As we accomodate, I admire the view the Griffindors are indeed fortunate to have. The orange sun setting behind the castle's medieval magnificence, throwing ocher shadows over the architectured crevices.

"Are there any fruitful developments, besides today being friday, to justify your sneaking of alcoholic beverages into school?"

"There comes the Head Girl attitude. Totally hot!"

"You're lucky I'm presently concerned with more important things than busting you for innappropriate behavior on school grounds. Otherwise..."

"Oh, I know, babe. I'll be more hush-hush next time. But tonight the Puckster it's partying for a very awesome future as a dragon breeder! Chicks are gonna fall all over this daddy and his fire breathing babies."

Those were actually great news. Puck may be a lazy slob most of the time, but when one talks about magical creatures, he can get surprisingly geeky.

"So, I take it being in the study group worked."

"Well... yeah. With the two hottest brainiacs in Hogwarts tutoring me there was no chance in hell I wasn't gonna score."

Innuendo noted.

"Have you thanked Quinn yet?"

His jovial braggadocio fades accordingly to the change of subject.

"I haven't seen her."

Just as I expected. Quinn has isolated herself not just from me.

"I'm really worried about her. It's like someone swapped our Quinn over Christmas with a souless, totally not awesome NPC."

The weight of his embrace is not nearly as comforting as this situation has me requiring.

"She hasn't come to glee, nor to the drama club, and much less to the Muggle Pop Culture Studies club. That is truly disquieting, Noah. I need to find out what went wrong with her. She is not well, and I have this feeling that something bad could happen anytime now."

Noah grabbed my hands. He had this determined glint in his eyes that I hoped was a stroke of genius.

"We could kidnap her and give her some veritaserum."

Well, criminal genius.

"How did you manage to come..."

"I stole it from Snape's locker to blackmail Karofsky. One sip during dinner at the Great Hall and he would never be able go back to Narnia. Why do you think he stopped thrashing the glee club?"

"Well, however you managed to break into Snape's locker, for my future safety should interrogations ensue, I don't want to know."

I could not believe what I was considering. I would have never thought that all that was required for me to turn into a delinquent was three months of Quinn Fabray's silent treatment.

"I can't believe I'm about to say this, but desperate times call for desperate measures. We will have to find a way to immobilize Quinn and give her the veritaserum, and then pray that she doesn't want to sharpen her dueling skills on us."

He swallows a thick one.

"I'll make sure to wear my jockstrap."

That was a visual I did not wanted inside my head.

"So, Jew Princess, when is the 'Break the Ice Queen's Ice' operation going down?"

"Monday, after McGonagall's transfiguration class. We cannot let her leave the classroom without us."

He gives me his best Puck smile.

"This is gonna be good."

I knew that I came to Noah for a reason. I just hope this doesn't spark any more hate in Quinn.

Staring at Quinn's bed is a habit I wish I could rid myself of, because the current vacancy keeps tearing things apart inside me. Nonetheless, this masochistic ritual has become a consistent component of my newly acquired insomniac routine. Every night this last two weeks I've stared at the shadows of the curtains slowly creeping over the comforter, trying to picture a head of wild blonde hair resting against the pillows. I've closed my eyes, trying to hear the little snorts she makes in her slumber, forcing them out of my memory alone. But as ten turns to three, and my vision blurs, I realize that, despite all of my magical proficiency, I'm not capable to will her presence into this room. Into her bed. Into anywhere near me.

Mondays are kind of horrific given that not seeing her over the weekend worsens my insomnia. I have to apply extra mascara, and drink as much caffeine as my nerves permit. At the Great Hall, Puck sees me from the Griffindor's table, and waves my way. I acknowledge his salutation over my scalding coffee and my uneaten vegan breakfast. We concocted the plan after brainstorming at the library on saturday. We decided to use a paralizing spell, to prevent any resistance and ensuing damages to vulnerable body parts. Then Noah would carry her, and we'd take her to the choir room. There we would give her the veritaserum and, assuming her occlumency abilities aren't as advanced for it not to work, inquire whatever is going on with her. I listed a few questions that might make her spill. This should follow smoothly.

"Are you ready, Jew Princess?"

Breakfast hour is done. There are only a couple of student chatting before leaving to their classes. I put down the stale coffe and look up to him.

"I have to be."

"You know Quinn. She could be falling from a cliff and still not take anyone's hand."

"So we will just force our help on her?"

"That's what the real buds do for a fallen comrade. It's for her own good."

I smile at him, feeling the weight of my fatigue.

"I hope she rationalizes it that way."

"She will, Rach. It's you after all."

He avoids my gaze as he says that.

"Well, we don't want to be late for McGonagall's."

When we get to the classroom, Puck hugs me goodbye and goes to his usual seat next to Mike. I would normally sit with Quinn in the front row, but lately I've had to partner with Brittanny. Finn doesn't take this class, so that is a relief. As Britt makes small talk, my eyes veer towards the door, expecting Quinn to turn up at any minute and maintain her perfect record of assistance. The clock marks five to eight, and Britt says something about her patronus being a gay shark. Quinn is never late. Never ever. The door remains open, and students are coming in, but none of them is the blonde Slytherin Quidditch captain. Seven fifty nine, McGonagall appears. She swiftly closes the door and begins the lesson. Maybe Quinn overslept. Maybe she is in the hall, running towards the classroom. McGonagall is not going to spare her when she comes in. Eight fifteen. I look over to Noah, his lip is twitching as he points to the clock with his eyes. Quinn loves advance transfiguration. She would never miss this class.

Ten am. She did not come. Puck reunites with me at the door, visibly concern.

"Do you share anymore classes with her today?"

"I share all of my classes with her, Noah. But if she didn't come to Transfiguration, I fear she won't come to Potions or Muggle Studies."

"I have Care of Magical Creatures later. Maybe she will come to one of those classes. Quinn missing one is already too weird."

Fear grips me. If she comes, it will be up to me, and me alone, to immobilize and interrogate her.

"Noah, I can't do this, not by myself."

"Yes you can, Rach. Something's up with Quinn, we can't wait for her to come and tell us. I have free period right now, so I'll wait outside of Potions. If she doesn't come, I'll go to my class after lunch, and when I'm finished I'll head straight for the choir room."

I feel a shiver wreck through my spine. I can't even produce speech when I'm around Quinn, unless heavily intoxicated. How am I going to look her in the eyes, and then proceed to bind and drag her to the choir room to extort answers through the use of a magical substance?

"You are Rachel fucking Berry, you can do anything. Besides, you have the best chances of immobilizing her without her wanting to kick you in the nads later."

He searches through his pockets, extracting a little vial with a silvery liquid in it. He lays it in my hand.

"You two are best friends. Everything'll be alright."

I sigh.

He accompanies me from the third floor to the dungeons, where the Potions class is to ensue. As we descend the shadowy candlelit stairs, he doesn't find the irony in conversing about the wonderful state of March's weather, despite Maine and global warming. Today happened to be a beautiful sunny day, with exceptionally clear blue skies, no clouds in the distance. Perfect for a picnic in the gardens, or a bout in Slytherin's dueling arena. It was quite the antithesis to all this inner gloom that has been eating away at my capacity to be at peace.

The peculiar bouquet of the Potions' Lab wafted under our noses as we arrived to my next course. I fist the vial in my sweaty palm, then slide it in my pocket. There is something that does not feel right, but Noah steadies my shoulders, silently reminding me to be courageous. I tap his hands and say my goodbyes.

Ten fifteen. Snape draws his flowing black cape through the door, gliding by the student filled desks, his boots clacking against the flagstones. He gets to the blackboard, and spins dramatically, like a less handsome Phantom of the Opera. I feel his cold, dark stare scrutinizing the emptiness of my partnering slot.

"Miss Berry, would you care to tell me the whereabouts of Miss Fabray, or at least provide a rational explanation for her absence?"

There is a kind of silent menace under that sentence. Usually professor Snape would be less threatening. Quinn and I had managed, in our academic efforts, to earn his respect, and even a glint of admiration. However, today he seems to be stewing a hidden rage, that I'm sure has something to do with Quinn's performance at the NEWTs.

"I'm sorry, professor, but I'm not privy to that information. I am sure she will provide one explanation herself when she has the oportunity."

His long fingers caress the engravings on the hilt of his wand, and I feel a little dizzy. I cannot take Snape's affront right now, much less if it has something to do with her.

"The best score on the NEWTs. That is an extraordinary achievement, Miss Berry. Thirty points for Slytherin. And now, open your books in chapter thirty six..."

A compliment, though it did not feel like one. I know, just as he does, that that honor should have been for Quinn.

A quarter to noon. She's not coming to Potions either.

Once the lesson was done, I picked up my utensils, stuffed them in my cauldron, and went to meet Noah; but when I stepped outside the lab, I found him conversing with Finn, who went sheepishly silent after noticing my presence. I started to fume.

"Hey... are you still mad?"

Puck took this as his cue to hurry to the Great Hall, excusing his haste on Sam's supposedly waiting for him so they could continue with some PSP business. He patted Finn in the back, giving him a semblance of pity, then rushed up the dungeon's stairs.

"Why would I still be mad, Finn? Our little quarrel happened on friday, and today is monday. I'm just wondering why would you not reach out to me earlier."

That dopey face wriggled into a nervous smile, his large hands fidgeting with the smooth –and certainly underused– Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. He hunched to one side, probably trying to force a neural connection that would enable him to comprehend my message. Why did he have to be so obvious in his obliviousness? So basic in his demeanor? So excruciatingly boring... in everything? He stuttered, and my patience cracked like an egg in a pan.

"I'm sorry, my time is too limited today to stand your nonsense. When you are able to deliver some kind of meaning suitable for human communication... I'll be somewhere."

I death gripped my book and bolted out of his way. My care for him was seriously undermined by my other responsabilities, and me standing there just felt like an utter waste of time. Quinn was nowhere to be found this morning, a sign that hell must have frozen over. I had to find her.

As I made my way to the library, guessing she could be there, I crossed paths with Santana and her crew of lackeys. I had not ask her about Quinn earlier because of a rumour stating that the two of them had a fallout that ended in a physical confrontation. The thought of Santana hitting Quinn had me evading the latter's presence at any cost, or else my pacifist lifestance would be difficult to keep. Truly, if there was a better choice, I would avoid Santana and her latest foul moods like tonsillitis. But I was running out of options. So I make eye contact and steer in her direction.

She notices, and a grimace adorns her face accordingly. I'm sure she was dead set in eschewing any possible contact, but I planted myself firmly in front of her before she could attemp an escape.

"Santana."

She rolled her eyes, answering my greeting with a venomous edge to her words.

"Dwarf. Got your sock yet or are you still cleaning closets?"

Her crew giggled under their noses, but they stopped when they met my glare. I was the highest ranking Slytherin at the time, no underclassmen could disrespect me without consequences. Plus, Santana and I had somehow managed to stay on peaceful terms over the last two years. The regression mystified me almost as much as the developments of this lackluster half of the seventh year.

"I don't have time for your insults. Have you seen Quinn today?"

Her attitude shifted. For a fleeting moment she seemed too worried, like she had not been sleeping that well as well. A crack in the mask she quickly built up again.

"You mean Fabgay? She might as well be hiding in Snape's cabinet, reading her stupid books."

She was taunting my already faltering patience.

"Her books are not stupid."

"Um... yes they are. No wonder she ain't got game enough to pick up a fucking domestic elf like you, like she can't even give orders."

A poignant sting drilled through my brain. What was it with her and her demeaning hostilities against Quinn and me? My nails digged in the cover of my textbook. I really wanted to rip her a new one.

"You know, she's your friend too, so why don't you at least pretend that you give a shit!"

Her eyes peeled at the cursing. I was gone in wrath. I felt myself morph at the will of my uncontrollable anger. My hands grew soft red feathers, then shrank into my changed little body. My scream turned into the whistling of a songbird. I flew away, over her shoulder, into the spring breeze.

I was flying around the castle towers aimlessly for the majority of the afternoon, with no desire to attend the last lesson of the day. My gut was telling me she was not going to come to Muggle Studies either. I was feeling incredibly stupid. Here was I, Rachel Berry, Head Girl of Hogwarts, the best NEWTs scorer, high ranking member of several succesful clubs. One, of only two, wandless magic student practitioners in many years in the history of this school. One of only five animagi students. All of this so I could spend most of my seventh, and last, academic year in misery for not being able to talk to my best friend. So I could spend one of the best day of March despairing over my inability to find her.

Soaring in the clear skies, I've come to rest on the roof of the headmaster's tower. The height of my shadow against the tiles tells me it must be about four, but I couldn't find it in me to go back to human form and face the school grounds again. For the love of Barbra, I should be happy. I am ending on top. I have gotten multiple prizes and scholarships. The teachers are incredibly proud of my accomplishments. In so many ways my life is not a mess, and yet I'm drowning. In her.

Suddenly the tall windows of the headmaster's office open below me. I see Dumbledore, his silver beard flowing in the wind. He compliments the weather, talking about the cool breeze of Maine. As he says this, a gush of air pushes me off the roof, next to him on the window.

"Oh, what do we have here? Are you ok, little friend?"

Dumbledore extends his hands to me, grabbing me delicately in his cradleling fingers, then takes me inside his office. He caresses my little head, as I catch a glimpse of Snape and McGonagall. He accomodates me next to Fawkes, his beautiful red phoenix, and I wonder if he knows who I am, given that I am already a registered animagus, and that that registration occurred through means of the administrative functions of this school.

The headmaster sits behind his desk, solemn even in his quaint robe.

"We cannot find her. It is almost as if she weren't on school grounds."

Snapes says, guarding his preocupation under the guise of slight annoyance. McGonagall looks seriously distressed.

"Where you able to find anything about her parents, Professor?"

She inquires. Dumbledore's brow twitches. He looks my way, and takes a long pause before answering.

"The Fabrays are in currently residing in North Carolina. However, our initial suspicions were mistaken."

"She did not use the incantantion?"

Snape seemed both impressed and disturbed by that finding. But wait, why where they talking about Quinn's family?

"I am afraid so."

"I searched the room of requirement after Miss Lopez informed me that was the place Miss Fabray preferred to use when she wanted privacy, but she was not there."

"She's missing classes, Dumbledore. She's one of our best students. Perfect record. Head Girl. Her absence is too much of an abnormality to be ignored."

That was the first time I had seen McGonagall in such a disquieting mood.

I felt like crying, but Fawkes started caressing my head with his golden beak, so I stood my ground and kept listening.

"My friends, as you must know, I took a special interest on this girl from the minute we sent her the letter. The force of her spirit can only be compared to her intelligence, her cunning... and her vulnerability. I expected from the moment I first saw her that we were going to have our hands full, and I was not wrong. She turned out to be, right with miss Berry, one of the best additions this school has had in years. But knowing that, and her, as well as I do, I can only conclude this: we're not going to find her. Not if she does not want to be found."

There was a heavy silence after that, tinkered with the stench of resignation. As much as I did not want to believe that, I knew Dumbledore was right.

Snape crossed his arms and paced slowly around the room, until he noticed something.

"Dumbledore..."

"Yes, Severus?"

"Whatever happenned to your pensieve?"

I looked Snape's way. He was standing next to an empty headed pillar. The pensieve's bedrock.

"Oh, I lent it to a friend. But I'm afraid I'm going to have to take it back sooner than I thought.

I land near Hagrid's shack in the outskirts, morphing back into human form. The Care for Magical Creatures course is set to end at any minute now. It is already six o' clock, and what used to be a sunny summery day was turning into grey cloudy mess.

Rubeus finally ends the lesson, and Noah and I reunite promtly. I need to tell him about the discussion at the headmaster's office, but there is so much conflicting information and emotions inside me that I probably won't be able to do so in a coherent and comprehensible manner.

"Any luck in Muggle Studies?"

"I missed that class."

"What?"

He is giving me a look as if I was growing an extra appendage.

"I was in the headmaster's office."

"Sweet Jesus! Where you beating children to find Quinn?"

"What? No! Stop making up stupid theories and let me explain!"

I was organizing my thoughts when it hit. I felt it inside, and my legs failed me.

"Oh God! Rachel, what's wrong?"

It was a sensation of Quinn. A ghostly image inside my head.

"The Quad."

Noah helped me stand.

"The Quad?"

"Quinn is at the Quad, right now."

The grey clouds darkened, amassing themselves in a whirlwind over the castle.

"Noah, I suggest you pick your broom and follow."

Turning my back on him, I morphed again. I elevated quickly, flapping my wings against the angry currents.

The Quad is full of students when I arrive. They are a gathering audience. Quinn is in the middle. She is in casual wear, white shirt, black boots and pants. Her long golden locks were chopped a little over her neck. She is holding Lea, her telecaster, tunning it in a automatic routine. Her eyes have a misty silver glow. I've never seen her like this before. She looks unhinged, and wild.

Thunder resonates over Hogwarts as more people gather at the square. I recognize a few glee clubbers in the mass, and they are all terrified. Noah arrives shortly after, jumping off his broom. He comes to me.

"Are you ok?"

"Yes... Quinn is... there."

He turns to see her.

"Is she under some kind of spell?"

"I don't know. I can't tell."

"Quinn!"

He screams as he walks up to her, but he doesn't get far. A gush of wind knocks him harshly into the crowd.

"Quinn!"

I finally call out to her. She lifts her head in my direction. Her grip around the neck of the guitar tightens. Her tongue moistens her lips. She plays a strangely familiar tune, shreding the strings, as another round of thunder occurs.

" _What the fuck is this world_

_ running to?..._"

Her voice is growling lowly.

" _You didn't leave a message_

_ At least I could have heard your voice one last time..._"

The music arrangements, functioning by magic, blast over the thundering as the wind picks a faster pace.

"_Daily minefield, this could be my time_

_ How 'bout you?_

_ Would you hit me? Would you hit me?..._"

She harmonizes over the agressive guitar. I don't know why I can't recall this song.

The crescendo ups, then breaks, as a giant lightning parts the heavens. Heavy rain pours.

The guitar is roaring, she hunches over it. Her hair obscures her eyes.

"_All the bills go by_

_ And initiatives are taken up..._"

The rain splashes the audience. A force of nature.

"_By the middle_

_ There ain't gonna be any middle anymore..._"

Quinn's nature.

"_And the cross I'm bearing home..._"

Cross. Quinn's cross. My eyes search her neck.

"_Ain't indicative of my place..._"

The cross is not there.

"_Left the porch_

_ Left the porch..._"

Someone, a teacher, approaches to stop the display of wild magic, but he is pushed away by wind and water. Quinn lifts her gaze up to mine, like when we practiced Legilimency.

"_Hear my name, take a good look_

_ This could be the day..._"

We're locked in a mental link.

"_Hold my hand_

_ Walk beside me..._"

I try to read inside her.

"_I just need to say..._"

Several lightnings descend from the sky. They touch the stony ground around her, creating a dangerous light show. I shiver at the vision as the licks of the guitar set the pace of the storm.

"_Hear my name, take a good look..._"

I find no images in her mind. Just a surge of emotion. A blinding rage, dampened by resignation.

"_This could be the day..._"

Her feet abandon the ground, levitating.

"_Hold my hand..._"

This song.

"_Lie beside me..._"

I have listened to this somewhere.

"_I just need to say..._"

Lightning and thunder collide over her from above, filling her with a supernatural light. Her skin glows with a blueish hue. She is an electric goddess.

"_What can I take?..._"

Pearl Jam.

"_I just want to be..._"

I recall the lyrics. I see them. Because in her mind, that is all there is.

"_I KNOW THAT I WOULD NOT EVER TOUCH YOU..._"

All there is.

"_HOLD YOU..._"

And I can't tell the rain from tears.

"_FEEL YOU..._"

My lips tremble with the rest of my body.

"_EVER HOLD... NEVER AGAIN..._"

She shreds the strings in spasms, jamming with the last rays of lightning, then leaves the guitar alone to play the last part in midair. She makes her screams as she closes in, the electric glow fading slowly from her body. She invades my space with too much contained enegy. The misty gleam in her eyes disappear with every "yeah". Her hand crawls up my arm, all the way to my cheek. I feel the slight burns in her fingers as she grabs my chin. Her face is too near. Her eyes are cleared, pupils emptied of every but one thing.

The winds stops as she harmonizes over the last vocalization. I can feel her breath over my mouth.

Silence takes the place. The rain pours lazily over us. Quinn closes her eyes. I think she's going to kiss me.

But she just falls.

I'm sitting next to the bed in the infirmary, arms crossed. Quinn is lying there with her hands bandaged. She's been unconscious for as long as I have been with her, and I have not left her side in three days. No classes, no more activities. I barely eat, and don't sleep. Santana has offered several times to take my place, but I can't abandon her. I need to know that she is going to wake up.

The night is cold when Dumbledore enters, following Mrs. Pomfrey to the bed. He acknowledges me, then Quinn.

"Shouldn't you be in your bed at such hours, miss Berry."

"I'm sure you already know this sir, but let me reiterate: no matter the circumstances, I will not leave her. I don't care if I fail my last year, and I certainly don't care if my anyone deems my behaviour anything but exemplary. She is not alone, and I will make sure she knows that."

"Indeed, she is not, Rachel. She is loved, too much."

I feel congested, the tears coming again.

"Why did this happen? Does anyone knows anything at all?"

He drags a chair next to me, and takes a sit. His bony fingers cross over his knee.

"I had always found amusing how you and miss Fabray strived to improve your magical knowledge and proficiency out of sheer curiosity. You are such hungry and enthusiastic students. Yet, because of this same quality, there have been instances where you have gone farther than your young minds can grasp. Magic, as life, is a very layered and complex thing, capable of opening doors to where the human mind could easily find no meaning in explanation, no logic to justify."

I feel the weight of guilt on my shoulders.

"You already knew about our legilimancy and occlumency practices."

"Well, I assumed you were not trying to keep that hidden since you were using library books in your research."

Well, he knew about our practices, but maybe he was still blind to the incident.

"Wait, what does that has to do with her being like this?"

Did I actually caused this? Did I wreck Quinn's mind by mistake?

"An accident. She tried legilimency on herself."

Oh my God.

"Is that even possible? And why would Quinn want to use legilimency on herself? That is far too insane."

I was freaking out. This wasn't just some bizarre weather magic accident. This was a psycho-mental-cerebral magic accident, and the weather thing was just a cover up, or a remnant of it's effects.

"Is her mind damaged?"

"That can only be determined whe she wakes up."

He stands from his chair, ready to go for the night. Such a short, yet loaded, visit. My head is spinning with all this new information. Quinn wanted to manipulate her own mind. But why? Did anything happened that would make her so desperate to try whatever put her in this bed?

"When she does please, Miss Berry, would you be kind enough to take her to my office?"

"Yes, of course, professor Dumbledore."

I gaze at her face. She looks like a sleeping angel. How could such a peaceful face hide such dark fears? And how could she keep them from me?

"A word of advice, Rachel..."

I turn around to face him.

"Exhaustion will not aid you in caring for her. Make sure to take a goodnight sleep. Everything will be better in the morning."

He smiles before leaving.

I bite my lip and close my eyes, and hope for Dumbledore to be right.


	3. Chapter 3

Notes: I'm deeply sorry for the delay, but July was busy with birthdays and trips and life. Also, I hit a few blocks while writing this chapter, which is the last of this long drawn out introduction. Also, I'd like to say that I'm thankful for all of you who reviewed the last ones, your words gave me courage during the blocks. I hope you like this even if it's late.

III

My eyelids are still closed, yet the abrassive sunlight creates dancing orange shadows that slowly work to wake me from my slumber. I don't want to. My chest fills with a cold sensation as I try to block the reasons why I do not want to open my eyes. To forget would be so much more pleasant. To remain protected from hurtful images. Like the one where Quinn keeps reading her book as I sing to her in glee club, as if my words were muted and she was simply not there. Like the one where Quinn looks at me as if I sickened her, with a cutting gleam in her eyes, a silent dissapointment. Her back retreating into the crowd as the heavy door closes before me. Quinn becoming a storm of electric wrath that howls and screams, drenched in rain. Singing hurtful promises. She would ever touch me. Hold me. Feel me. Ever again.

My neck cramps as I try to readjust in my uncomfortable seat and continue to dwell in dreamland. My bones feel like a mass of bricks. Everything my senses perceive is jarring. Except for one thing. A tickle of warm air near my right cheek. It comes and goes in even strokes of air. Then my skin is touched by something that feels like balmy cashmere. It travels through my face, pushing my bangs away, caressing my ear, resting some bristlier patch of material at my jaw. The tickle of air moves towards my mouth, blowing tiny, humid, gasps. I get goosebumps in my neck, such a delectable sensation. The unadulterated touch of...

The sun stings my eyes as they open to hazel ones.

"Oh my Barbra!"

One would think it is only logical that an accomplished dancer like myself would have better balance while resting on an static object. But logic can be traitorous, specially when it comes to Quinn Fabray and infinitesimal distances from my face. I bend in an awkward dodge, and so does the chair. I hit the ground with a sonorous thud. Something heavier follows as well. It knocks the air out of me.

"Oh... God..."

I hear her pained her voice over me, really close.

"Hey... are you ok?"

I open my eyes with the intent to dispell the haze of this sloppy awakening. I have to figure out if this is just a sleepy dellusion. The sun leaves me blind for seconds before I distinguish the shapes. A beautiful face, perfect chiseled features. Choppy locks of blonde hair, all tousled over. Deep hazel eyes, shining with green in the violent sunlight glow.

I almost choke.

Then I remember she was struck by lightning several nights ago and now she has just fell with me on this incredibly solid floor.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. Are you? Did you hurt somewhere? Did a wound reopened?"

Trying to stand, I bump into her again.

"God, Quinn, I really need to..."

Oh, for every inch of Sondheim's musical talent, she is crawling over me. Are we reverting back to that? Is this what I think it is? She straddles my stomach and angles over me. Maybe I'm dreaming. Maybe falling off the chair knocked me out again. But still... having this type of dreams of recently unconscious and probably mentally damaged Quinn is so not right!

We are staring at each other. There is something that is definitely off about this.

"I think..."

I'm glad she can, because I am having trouble with that.

"No, I'm certain..."

She smiles. I hadn't seen her do that since Christmas break. Why does she have to be so cute and alluring and innapropriate at the same time?

"Do you want to know what I'm certain about?"

I nod, not trusting what could come out of my mouth in this kind of situation.

"You are the absolute most gorgeous thing I have ever seen... and I really want to put my mouth on yours."

I think my neurons just fried. I smell popcorn in my skull.

The door to the infirmary opens and Mrs. Pomfrey comes in, carrying medical supplies. When she notices us, in our questionable arrangement, her eyes peel back and her cheekbones turn a dark shade of crinsom.

"What are you girls doing?"

When my annoying verbosity could come in handy, it has a tendency to vanish. I wanted to break in a resolute explanation asserting that by no means were Quinn and I engaging in risqué, hormonal ridden behaviour on the floor of the school's infirmary. But nothing came out of my mouth.

"I was going to find out what her mouth tastes like."

Oh my! Did she really just said that? I look to Pomfrey, and her grimace confirms this. My hands feel clammy all of a sudden. She clears her throat. Quinn does not take her eyes from me.

"Miss Berry, did she just woke up?"

A question. I simple one.

"Ye... Yes!"

"I see. Let's try this. Quinn Fabray?"

Quinn is still gazing at me, at my lips. She looks adamant in fulfilling her stated purpose. She wets her lips, and I follow the pink tongue in it's moistening trail.

"Miss Quinn Fabray?"

Pomfrey calls again. Quinn's lips move in slow motion.

"Hey, is your name Quinn?"

Cue scratching sound. Everything falls into place.

I grab her arms and level us until we are both seating on the floor.

"No, it's you. You are Quinn."

"Me, really?"

Her head angles to the side.

"Well, that doesn't sound so bad for a name."

I can feel the tears stinging, but stop on my tracks. This has to be about Quinn. I have to provide a helpful, stress and grief free enviroment if she is to recuperate in a timely fashion.

"It doesn't. I have always told you it is a pretty name, Quinn."

I smile at her, and she does back, then stand up from the floor, straightening my skirt and hood, and help Quinn too. I ease her into the bed again as Pomfrey approaches with her instruments.

"I know you are accompanying miss Fabray, miss Berry, but I must conduct some examinations, so could you please be so kind to wait at the hall? I'll call you when we are done."

In other circumstances I would protest, but I'm concerned about Quinn's state.

"Wait... is she going to go?"

Quinn is suddenly alarmed.

"Please don't go, beautiful."

She slides over the bed to my side and hugs me tighly.

"Please don't leave me. Please. Pretty please with sugar on top?"

Mrs. Pomfrey waits for my move. If Quinn resists she will have to be immobilized or sedated. I hug Quinn back and whisper in her ear.

"I'm not going to go, I'm going to be outside for a little while, then Mrs. Pomfrey will call me back in."

"So you'll be back quick?"

"Yes."

"Really quick?"

"Yes."

"Can I taste you then?"

My mind is crashing in the gutter. No no no. Just answer something.

"Yes... No! I mean... you are not supposed to be asking that."

I disentangle myself from her... with a little resistance.

"Why can I ask that?"

"I will explain if you are good and let Mrs. Pomfrey examine you without interferences."

She sits back, watching me like a marveled puppy.

"Ok. I'll be good and you'll be just outside, right?"

"That is correct. I will see you then Quinn. Mrs. Pomfrey."

I turn around and walk away from the row of beds. At least she is awake. She looks healthy. I felt no scars on her fingers. There is no visible physical damage whatsoever. But she could not remember her own name, much less mine.

Dumbledore said she used legilimency on herself. Was she trying a new kind of spell? Or was she just using it to navigate through her mind, then an accident occurred? Maybe her mind was too tired and caved in during a simple session. She was under a lot of stress because of the NEWTs, and the stupid school newspaper gossip streak did not help. I should have been more insistent in being with her. If only I had not been such a coward. How could I let something like this happen under my watch?

Minutes overstretch over my oscillating speculations as I wait for Mrs. Pomfrey to call me. I breathe in, deep and slow, catching a whiff of my clothes. I totally forgot. Great, just what I needed to light my mood! I was a stinking nervous mess beneath a pervy amnesiac Quinn.

Of all the things an amnesiac Quinn could be, pervy would've been my last guess.

"Miss Berry, she is ready."

Pomfrey says as she comes my way.

"Professor Dumbledore informed me you would bring miss Fabray to his office once she was capable."

"Yes, I will."

A brief pause.

"Amnesia?"

"Indeed."

"Is... is it bad?"

"There is no way to know at such early stages."

"And..."

"She is physically fine. Her burns healed smoothly. She was not as damaged to begin with... who knows how. Lighting is not something to be handled lightly."

I swallow heavily. Quinn was certainly more than a remarkable witch.

"So... she can leave?"

"Yes, but I'd recommend taking her to Dumbledore as soon as possible. Whatever effects the magic she used could have, may manifest in the strangest ways. This is so unusual."

"I'll take her to him. Thank you for everything, Madam."

I ran back to Quinn, not caring for composure.

She was sitting on the bed, crosslegged, eyeing her Slytherin hood with curiosity. Her clothes from that night also rested on the sheets, primly folded.

"Sly... therin."

She misreads the badge, then notices my presence. She stands from the bed and comes into my personal space again. Her hand lifts slowly, palming the badge over my breast. She smirks as I gasp.

"You have one too."

She runs her fingers over the engraved snake. I choke a moan at the back of my throat.

"Is that like a club?"

Pervy Quinn. Amnesiac pervy Quinn. She is too dangerous for my sanity.

I slap her hand away from the badge. She pouts.

"No, it is not a club. It's a house."

"A house. Your house? Can we go there?"

"We have to, actually. I think both of us could use a bath and..."

"Is it a bath house?"

"No, of course not..."

"Are we going to bathe together?"

Geez. The gutter. It is too hard to keep a rational conversation like this.

"No! We have to prep ourselves so we can go to meet the headmaster."

"The headmaster?"

"Yes, Dumbledore, the school's headmaster."

"Dumbledore?"

I wanted to facepalm my way into oblivion. This was so freaking tragic and ridiculous at the same time.

"What's your name?"

She touches my hand with her fingers, making a light caress. Hazel has turned into a honey hue.

"Rachel. Rachel Berry."

Back to square one. Seven years of sharing, of memories, gone. I'm a stranger to her again.

"It is really good to meet you, Rachel. Your name is as delightful as the texture of your skin."

I think a mexican jalapeño can actually look like chalk next to me. I'm itching everywhere. I cannot understand my emotions. My brain is screaming either to jump her or shove a sock into her mouth.

"Quinn, please just get dressed. We cannot be late for our appointment."

"Oh, sure, sorry for making you late."

Quinn starts undoing the buttons of her pajamas, as if it was not something unusual to undress in front of a stranger. I should turn around, I should will my eyes shut, but it seems that I have lost any kind of control over my motor functions. Then her shirt is on the floor and I'm staring at her bare chest. I'm embarrased at how much my mouth is watering. Maybe "get dressed" was not the smartest thing to say given the circumstances. She bends to grab her white shirt, and I see desirable shapes dangling in mellowing motions. God.

She finally slides into her shirt, buttoning it up smoothly. I don't know how I survived cardiac arrest.

Then her hands go to the waistband of her pajama pants.

I am not going to be able to handle that.

"Quinn!"

My hands stop her hands in place. She looks up to me, and I see her humid pink tongue sliding over plump lips again.

"Can I taste you now?"

She is closing in, so much, and I'm about to writhe and melt at the same time.

"You... you are... being... thoroughtly innapropriate... Quinn."

It comes as a series meek breathy whispers.

"I'm sorry. I just feel so raw around you."

Fever. I'm flaming. I am not really here. This a postmorten fantasy I'm having after being toasted by a dragon at the Triwizard Tournament. I'm going to pass out.

"Can I ask why is it everything I say so innapropriate?"

Because you say it at mere inches from my mouth while you stare at it like you want to eat it?

"I... I'll get back to you on that."

I let her go and turn around. I put my hands over my face, shielding my eyes from any other distracting or mortifying visions.

"Please, just get dressed, quickly."

"I will still require an answer later, Rachel."

She says, chuckling.

The door of the infirmary closes behind us, cementing the impression that we have crossed into an alternate reality. Hogwarts seems quieter than usual, or maybe my overloaded brain is playing me into believing that. It must be around noon. The students must be having lunch at the Great Hall. This is perfect. We will only have to avoid one place, and there is almost no chance to run into any pesky classmates ridden with questions I am certainly incapacitated to give any kind of coherent answer to.

Some grunting and then a funny noise comes from Quinn's side, and I think my wishes are about to be crushed.

"Um... Rach, I think I'm hungry. Really hungry."

She rubs her belly, as her brow contorts in a grumpy gait.

I just crack in laughter. What else can I do at this point?

"I'm hungry, Rach, I don't see what is so funny about that."

Her gut gargles and I laugh again. She looks so cute when she is grumpy.

"Oh... you have to admit... it is... kind of funny... how your tummy sings like that. Guess you had a baritone in you."

"My tummy is not singing, it is growling, and it's not funny. I could eat anything right now..."

Oh, I wonder if she remembers this.

"Oh well, we could always go to the kitchen, maybe the elves could fix you a plate of bacon."

Her nostrils flare, and her mouth opens wide. I think I see a bit of drool too.

"Bacon! You have bacon here?"

"Will you behave?"

"Will there be bacon?"

"If you behave."

"If there is bacon."

"Pinky swear?"

I lift my pinky to her. She smirks.

"Pinky swear."

She takes my finger and places a soft and warm kiss in it. My brains short circuits again. She intertwines our arms.

"So... lead the way?"

Oh, of course. She doesn't remember the route to the kitchen. But she seems to recall bacon, vividly. There is something quite selective about this memory loss issue. Further experiments should illuminate more about this. I just hope Dumbledore can use the information.

"Of course, your bacon awaits!"

I march us through the empty hallway, further into the first floor.

As we walk, Quinn seems marveled at what should be common sights. She eyes the moving paintings with astonished curiosity. Gasps at the high ceilings. She is truly blank.

"So Rachel..."

"Yes?"

"Maybe I should've ask before but you kinda distracted me..."

"I distracted you?"

"Yes, you know, being irresistibly gorgeous and all..."

Someone keeps leaving strategically placed peebles on this floor for people to stumble on, and I think I've found one in the back of my left feet. She smirks at my clumsiness.

"You said something about a house, but I don't think most houses are this big. So, would you care to tell me what is this place?"

"The Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry"

We are finally closing in, the sound of heavy stone reacommodating humming a little louder in the distance.

"So this is a school."

She says this as if she were slowly pondering. You can almost see the clockwork of her thoughts in the transparency of her expression.

"It makes sense, with the matching cloaks and badges... but wait. Did you said witchcraft?"

She halts our movements and spins me to face her. Her mouth is hanging open, her eyes are bulging out, and her perfectly trimmed eyebrows are going to disappear into her hairline.

"Yes, Quinn, that is indeed what I said."

"Are you a witch?"

I don't get this. She does not have an idea of who she is, nor who I am. She does not know she has spent nearly seven years of her life studying magic, nor where she has done that. But she knows that houses are not supposed to be this big, and she remembers her craving for bacon.

"Yes, Quinn, and so are you?"

"Can you show me something?"

"Quinn, we can't be late. You need to eat, I need a bath, and we need to see Dumbledore. We cannot waste any more time..."

"Please..."

She is making a cute pouty face. I can almost hear the cracking of my resolve.

"Quinn..."

"Pretty please? I swear I'll eat faster."

I have sort of always had trouble refusing Quinn, at least that has stayed the same. But then my evil genius hits.

"So, you want to see some magic, huh?"

She nods like one of those tabletop plastic puppies.

"Well, you asked for it."

I lock my gaze on her face, expecting a reaction at what comes next. It is quick, as always, but I take a little more time for the sake of showmance. The red feathers grow again, as my body shrinks accordingly. I bat my wings to stand on air, in front of her. She is in awe.

"Oh my..."

She extends a hand to touch me. This is going to be so much fun.

"You can turn into a canary!"

I pinch her finger with my beak, then rush through the hallway.

"Ouch... oh, hey! Wait!"

It worked. I pick up my speed once I have her galloping behind me. I can hear her enegetic steps, her labored breathing. I turn in the corner, and continue past the large archway that signals our arrival to the Grand Staircase. I wait a bit for Quinn. She is trying to catch her breath through her slacking jaw. She does not recognize it either. I chirp, and regain her attention. We have to go down the stairs, and sneak into the kitchen. There we can have our lunch without distractions or public exposure, and then we'll go to our room and change into a fresher attire. My plan is flawless.

I fly around Quinn's head, then launch myself into the depths of the staircase. She hollers behind me, asking to slow down. But I don't want to slow down. I don't have anymore patience in me. Whatever kind of reasoning that allowed me to put Quinn's hunger over taking her to Dumbledore and decyphering what she did to her own mind, I regret it.

"Rachel, wait!"

We are a few steps away of the basement level.

"Rachel!"

That warped and raspy cry doesn't sound good. I turn to see if Quinn is still on my trail, and she is. Kind of. At least now I know her magical abilities are not impaired.

"Holy mothers!"

It comes out of me as a pitchy vibration. A gigantic white tiger is leaping from the stairs in my direction, it's fierce greenish eyes trained on my little body. I lunge to evade it, and continue to the end of the stairs in a mad dash. I had never been intimidated by Quinn's animagus form, but given her present mental condition, it's better not to take chances, or else I could become easy prey. Plus, she is really hungry.

We reach the hallway leading to the secret passage, and then I remember why this situation is even worse than I imagined. I have to tickle the pear. How on earth am I going to do that while being chased by an apparently dangerous beast? And as I'm reflecting on that, the painting of the fruit bowl appears in the distance. Ok. I have Quinn – turned into a four hundred pounds famished feline – behind me, and a painting in dire need of tickling in front of me –so the passage to the kitchen can open –, and I'm a freaking canary. Barbra, give me strength... and an idea. I hear Quinn roar. If I turn back into human form, I probably won't be able to fully contain her without another trip to the infirmary.

Sweet Fanny.

I crash into the portrait, over the pear. It's a hard knock, but I keep flapping my wings. I turn around and see enourmous paws gearing for me after an almost physically impossible jump. Then I hear a chuckle, and laughter. My feathers tickled the thing. A passage opens behind me as I slightly evade Quinn's feline body. In a second, my wings morph back into hands that latch at her fur in perfect timing.

We go smoothly through the passage, and somehow I succeed at accomodating myself over Quinn's back. We ride into the kitchen like a failed rodeo show, me hanging onto her for my life, until my frenzied mount trips and falls. A racket of glass and tin and cuttlery resounds, then Quinn stops. Still clinging to her, I hear her heartbeat hammering inside. She gasps and grunts, finally exhausted, and I wonder if Barbra is truly a prayer answering goddess. I lift my head. We are surrounded by several domestic elves, who share puzzled expressions on their faces. An uneasy feeling creeps up my back as I take in our surroundings, and notice that we are on a table, and that lunch is served.

"Oh no, don't send..."

I get a funny sensation in my gut. Something wanes and twists, then accomodates.

"... us up!"

The elves faces are superseded by hundreds of confused underclassmen ones. The bustling of many conversations stop in awe of the giant feline resting over the food. If my mission was sneaking Quinn Fabray into the kitchen, feeding her, and then covertly bringing her to Dumbledore, I would never qualify for a secret agent profession. For the first time in my life I wish the spotlight was on someone else.

"Rachel? Is that you?"

That voice. Just as I was thinking this could not get worse. I glance around several unknown individuals cloaked in red, then I see Finn. We are sitting on top of Griffindor's banquet, and as I'm about to indulge in stage fright induced nausea, tiger Quinn resucitates from her resting spot. The enormous feline turns to meet my face with its massive head. I notice the black stripes, the pink nose. The greenish hazel. The tiger closes in. It nudges me, rubbing her muzzle against my cheek like a sweet overgrown puppy. She does this for awhile, then she notices Finn too. She crawls up to him, standing over him with intimidating beastly majesty. Finn is paper white, gripping a couple of spoons, tensing his neck as if that could prevent beheading. Then blonde hair sprouts from the feline's head, and the bulk of animal muscle diminishes into a slender girl.

"Are you going to eat that?"

She points to his plate, her icy tone as fear inducing as her animagus form.

"No."

Finn manages in a choked whisper.

She grabs his plate.

"Could you make room for Rachel and me?"

He looks to his side, to one his Griffindor companions, and lifts his eyebrows. After some nervous rustling, a space is vacant. She stands on the table, plate in hand, and decends to the floor, then turns to me, smiling wide and lifting a helping hand.

"Let's have lunch, Rach."

Fifteen minutes later, Quinn and I are having lunch. She is eating heartily, without most of her typical decorum, enjoying every bite with a moan and a smile. She is so relaxed and happy. I, on the contrary, find myself trying to swallow correctly under the scrutiny of half the Griffindor table, plus half the glee club, whose members moved from all of their respective tables to witness firsthand the odd return of their co-captain. Their eyes went constantly from her, to me, to her again; then their faces would twist in a manner that could only be understood in three letters: WTF. Santana was the first to relent to the weight of the wacky silence.

"So, Q, care to explain again how did you not fry under that lightning again?"

Quinn continues eating. She doesn't notices Santana is talking to her over her cute gluttony. She also doesn't appear to remember her nickname.

"Quinn..."

She stops and gives me her full attention. Her mouth is absolutely stuffed, and it makes me want to hug the life out of her. But I must not do that, or else the glee clubbers line of questioning could turn gruesome.

"... Santana just asked you a question."

She swallows heavily.

"Who is Santana?"

Jaws clank to the floor. I can almost see their brains machinations rushing an eruption of inquiries I'm naively hoping they keep to themselves.

"I'm Santana, Q."

Quinn pivots to look at the angry girl.

"Oh, hi Santana, it's really nice to meet you."

Santana looks like a fountain of acid is going to gush from her mouth, but Brittanny suddenly touches her arm. That sort of calms the latina down before the blonde Hufflepuff tries with Quinn again.

"I really like that you didn't fry, Quinn. Glee club kinda sucks without you. Rachel sings too many sad songs."

Quinn eyes her with curiosity, then her eyebrows rise in realization. She closes into my ear and whispers.

"Are you sad?"

That is something I wish I didn't have to answer, because I know I will have to hide a few details.

"No, Quinn, why would you think that?"

"I didn't think you were the sad song kind of girl. Really, when I first saw you, you stroke me more as a gradiose song kind of girl. Grandiose is the only thing that fits you."

God. Her whispering in my ear was already too sexy to handle, and she has to make it harder.

"Would you two stop whispering among you and give us the memo on why Quinn doesn't seem able to recall Santana's name?"

It is as if Kurt has a juicy details antenna hidden somewhere up his... head.

"Yes, for crying out loud! She's been in a coma for more than three days!"

This is not the first time I've felt like smothering Blaine with his obnoxious bowtie.

"Yeah, and before that she was all rockin' in the rain with waterworks and sparking lighting..."

"Yes, that was dangerous, and so not like Quinn."

Mercedes and Tina had to had their two cents too.

"We just want to know if the Q-Wings is up and runnin' alright."

Puck is giving me his sympathies, probably knowing I know nothing more than what they know.

"Forget that Mohawk, I want to know everything, so spill the goods, Dwarf, before I..."

Somebody stomps the table and I bounce in my seat. Everyone is startled to, specially when they found the source.

"Allow me to make a recommendation, Santana...

Quinn's tone is so controlled, yet filled with fear inducing menace.

"... Since we barely know each other, and I wish for no ill will to come between us. Don't call Rachel for anything other than her name, unless you wish for your speaking abilities to be painfully impaired."

HBIC. That is still in her too.

The whole table is silent, and even Santana is doubting to make a comeback.

"Ok everyone, now listen..."

I clear my throat, trying to cut through almost solid tension.

"Ok... so... Quinn is fine as you can see, perfectly healthy. She's just having... a little trouble... recalling things... but who wouldn't after such an accident... to which we were all witnesses... thunder and lightning and all dangerous stormy things... so we will have to be as helpful as we can to ensure Quinn recovers promptly."

Maybe that did not come out as resolute as I intended. I observe the glee clubbers in their slow information intake, until confusion, irritation, expectation and fear turn into comprehension, and a little pity.

"So we should sing about memory stuff? I think a cat sings something like that."

Brittanny it's been lobbying to do Cats for ages now.

"You guys can sing?"

They all look to Quinn in unison.

"For the love of Julie Andrews, her memory is certainly gone."

"Guess the lightning did shock something besides Berry's panties."

"Oh my God, Q, you poor girl."

Quinn puts down her fork and knife, her plate clean. She is not alarmed, despite their distressing reactions.

"Rachel, can you sing?"

Mercedes muffles the choking indignation of Kurt.

"Yes, Quinn, it is one of my most cherished abilities."

"Can you sing something for me?"

I look around. Santana has a smug smirk splattered on her face. Kurt is curious. Tina, Artie, Sam, Mercedes and Mike are just waiting for something to make sense. Puck is not watching, but I have a feeling he will question me later. And Finn is still looking a bit sickened.

"Now is not the time, Quinn."

"Please?"

"If you are finished we should..."

I try to come across the meaning without saying "we should go to Dumbledore's", but Quinn seems to be set on this.

"No, Quinn, this is not up for discussion, we should go."

I take her hand and stand from the table.

"It was lovely to share lunch hour again like the family we have come to be. We will see you in glee practice."

I start walking, ignoring the general protests and the fact that I might be dragging Quinn, until she stops and spins me around. She holds me in her arms, close, and the whole Great Hall is silent again.

"I get it. I should be the one singing for you. I'm sorry I asked."

She leaves me frozen as she steps onto the Griffindor's table again.

"Please, allow me!"

She lifts her left hand in the air, and after a few seconds, her telecaster comes flying through the owls entry window. I have a deja vu as she grips the frets and straps the guitar on. She produces a purple pick and hits the strings at an accelerated pace, then walks over the table, as hundreds of eyes cling to her in sheer awe. Where did this rock star Quinn come from?

"_Hey, I'm in love,_

_ my fingers keep on clicking to the beating of my heart..._"

She jumps from the Griffindor's table, landing into Ravenclaw's. Her feet are dancing smoothly over the surfaces, as unabashed as her performance.

"_Hey, I can't stop my feet,_

_ ebony and ivory and dancing in the street..._"

She jumps again, right in front of me. I feel my knees turn to jelly.

"_Hey, it's 'cause of you,_

_ my world is in a crazy hazy hue..._"

And then it hits me. She is serenading me in front of the entire school.

"_My heart is beating like a jungle drum..._"

My heart is too, but for different reasons. Finn is here. I feel guilty as she repeats the chorus line, because I am not supposed to be enjoying this so much. I have to get out of here. I march to the door, but she keeps herself in front of me.

"_Man, you got me burning..._"

Oh, sweet Barbra.

"_I'm a moment between the striking and the fire..._"

I am a moment between fainting and spontaneously combusting. This cannot happen in public.

I run. But she stops and blocks my way.

"_Hey, read my lips..._"

Her lips. Her pink, moistened lips. So plump and chewable. So soft looking. I should have eaten better, I feel so hungry.

She closes the distance so much, I can feel ghosts of her hand near my stomach when she strikes the strings.

"_'Cause all they say is kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss..._"

I can't feel my panties anymore. They were there, I am sure of it. I think I'm sure.

"_No, it'll never stop, _

_ my hands are in the air, yes, I'm in love..._"

No. No. No. This is not her.

I run past her. Then hear the rhythmic clapping. Everyone is entranced by the melody. She's commanding them with musical magic. That she hasn't forgot.

"_My heart is beating like a jungle drum..._"

The door is near, and she is behind me. All I have to do is run to the stairs. Run to Dumbledore.

"_My heart is beating like a jungle drum..._"

It is. It's deafening. I can't hear the thoughts I should be having.

"_My heart is beating like a jungle drum..._"

Of helping my friend.

My friend.

The music stops as I exit. When Quinn comes out too, I shut the door and yank her away from here.

"Ow... hey... wait..."

I don't have the patience required for this.

"What now, Quinn?"

"Did you like the song?"

Yes, Quinn, of course, it was so lovely I almost jumped you, nevermind the presence of the whole student body, our friends, my current boyfriend, or your current mental state. I hate how much you make me want something I can't have.

"No! Now keep walking, Dumbledore is waiting."

I couldn't help shouting. I just feel like a cluster of sore emotions. It's easier to be angry.

"Hey, did it bother you?"

"No, of course not, Quinn! I'm not bothered at all! Now walk!"

Dumbledore's office seems a little smaller than I remember. Must be the canary perspective.

"Wow. This place is so... I don't think I have the words."

She did not look as amazed the first time we got to come here on our first year. She was still trying to maintain her cool new kid image, but I spotted half a smile when Fawkes flew by her. We were so young back then, our experience with magic so little. I remember this now because looking at Quinn's face is so disheartening. She is living through this all over again, while I'm stuck with my painful memories of our invalidated little history.

We walk up to the empty desk, and I'm wondering if the headmaster is even here. The door was open, so I assumed in my desperation that he could be. Yet the office is awfully quiet.

"Should we sit? I don't think he's here, Rach."

Maybe he was at the Great Hall, and I missed him over Quinn's frustratingly sexy performance. Sexy as in...

"Miss Berry, Miss Fabray..."

I jump and hit myself in the knee with the furniture. It was Dumbledore, behind us.

"Professor..."

I salute over my discomfort. Quinn is still in awe.

"Wow. You do look like a wizard."

"It is a relief to see you so healthy and lively, Miss Fabray. Your musical presentation at today's lunch was certainly a highlight in our day."

He smiles warmly at her as he crosses over to sit in his desk. I follow his cue and sit too.

"Don't you think so, Miss Berry?"

A mischievous glint lights his spectacles as I choke on my own saliva. I look to Quinn, and she is smug as ever.

"Well professor, I wanted for her to enjoy it but she assured me with plenty of conviction that she disliked it."

"I don't think that is the case, it was indeed a good performance. Is that your final consideration for Miss Fabray's act, Miss Berry?"

I can feel my nails marking my palms. This childish rascals are belittling my patience.

"It was... adequate... for an improvised solo effort."

A pause. Quinn is still smirking.

"It is clear that she has not forgotten some of her magical abilities, but still... Madam Pomfrey diagnosed amnesia."

Dumbledore's fingers interlock after a heavy sigh.

"Just what I expected. Miss Fabray, could you wait outside for a minute?"

Quinn bites her lip in a sweet confused gesture.

"Rach, is something wrong?"

I stand up and go to her, extending my hand.

"Come with me."

Her fingers close around my sweaty hand.

"I'll be back in a bit, Professor."

Quinn follows behind me to the office entrance. Under the archway she looks preocupied.

"Quinn, let me assure you there is nothing to..."

"I'm worried about you."

We stand in silence. I would understand if she was worried about the amnesia thing.

"Why are you worried about me, Quinn?"

She arranges my bangs behind my ear in a light caress.

"You know, this morning... the first time I saw you I had this... impression. Like you are so bright. Like you shine in a way that the darkest room would never hide you. Yet, beneath that, there is something that doesn't let you be, something that it's not yours yet you cling to it. A sour thing. I'm worried that you are in some kind of trouble, and you won't tell me."

"Quinn, the first time we saw each other was not this morning."

"When was it?"

"When we were eleven years old."

"And we are?"

"Seventeen."

"So we have known each other for seven years?"

I sigh, trying to restrain the tears I've been holding all day.

"Yes, Quinn, we have."

Her eyes water, but she's smiling. She hugs me tight. I bury my face in her shoulder.

"I'm really glad. This is the absolute best thing."

My arms circle and tighten around her waist. I don't want to let go. I don't want to go inside Dumbledore's office for him to remind me of what is lost. I just want to stay like this with her, until she remembers. Seven years.

"I have to go inside, Q. But I will be back shortly. Please wait for me."

I try to push her away, but she does not let me go.

"Q, please?"

I feel her lips ghosting over my ear, trailing over my cheek. They don't make contact.

"I'll be here."

We disentangle, and I go back to the headmaster, shutting the door behind me.

Dumbledore sits grave, deep in thought as I approach, vanishing any little hope I harbored for hearing not so gruesome news.

"I did notice she has not forgotten some of her magic signatures. Her animagus capability, the musical spell you two developed. She also seems to remember the way she feels about you."

"She doesn't remember me. She did not remember her own name."

"Feelings and names are different kinds of information, Miss Berry."

"She didn't recognize Hogwarts, nor Slytherin. She doesn't remember any of our friends. But she remembers Jungle Drum's lyrics, and the species of bird I can transform into."

"Does she remembers her family?"

"I'm not certain. She didn't recognize her surname, so she probably doesn't. But..."

"Yes, Miss Berry?"

"I don't know... this situation is so confusing. This amnesiac Quinn enigma is so much stranger than all the things we've been through, and we went through a lot."

"Rachel..."

He stands up from the desk, rubbing his hands together with a slow anxiety.

"Do you know why I ask you to bring her here?"

He rounds the desk to be nearer. It makes feel even more uneasy.

"I was the one accompaining her during her unconsciousness, so naturally I'd be the first to know when she woke up."

He smiles.

"Madam Pomfrey could have done that. I asked you because you are her friend."

"She did not think that way before this happenned."

"The truth is, Rachel, that neither of us knew what she was thinking. We had no way of knowing that she would choose to erase her memories."

Oh my God. I suspected that the moment Dumbledore said she used legilimency on herself, but I still stupidly clinged to the idea of an experiment gone wrong. I guess I did not want to think what I now certain of: Quinn wanted to forget.

I cannot help the tears anymore.

"How... are you sure of that?"

"Because I found them."

"What? What does that means?"

"Quinn Fabray's memories, they are intact. But they are not in her head."

My head is spinning. I feel nauseated.

"Professor, please, explain before I faint."

He pats my back, rubbing circles.

"Please try to remain calm."

I take a deep breath and hold it. This is it. This is the answer I've been needing since I saw Hagrid laying Quinn on the infirmary bed. I cannot back down now over hyperventilation.

A long exhale sinks me into the chair. I'm grounded. I'm ready.

"Where are Quinn's memories, and what did she do to herself to get them out?"

For the first time since January, I was glad to be on my bed.

This afternoon had been more intellectually and emotionally taxing than all of the crappy uneventfulness of this year. Dumbledore's long dissertation over Quinn's amnesia inducing methods had my grey matter disolving into a puddle of numbness. I could only conclude one thing when he finished: her magical genius could be potentially dangerous if used for all the wrong reasons.

So I let my head fall on the pillow, and remember the last question he left for me to ponder.

"So you think my performance was only adequate?"

That was not Dumbledore's question.

"Quinn, you should be sleeping!"

I hiss, trying not to wake Santana, who was in a awful mood when she saw us enter the common room a few hours earlier.

I hear some rustling, then steps, then someone is lifting the covers and getting under them. My eyes pop open when I feel a cold hand brushing over my belly, as someone hugs from the side.

"I can't sleep, I'm too cold."

She whispers in my ear, her hot breath breeding tingles that traveled south too fast.

"Quinn! What do you think you are doing?"

"Getting warm."

The way she said that mustn't have sounded as sultry as it did to my ears. Maybe she was being casual, and me hearing a sex goddess was just a consequence of me feeling her legs tangling with mine. Her hips followed, attaching themselves to the side of my thighs. If she was cold, I'd be turning into a furnace soon. A much too horny furnace.

"So, adequate?"

This is so inadequate. In the dark, all I can do is feel her. My body is in a state of red alert, specially when I notice the patch of skin between my sweats and my t-shirt growing beneath Quinn's furtive caresses.

"It was... good, Quinn. You are... not as pitchy... as you once were... and your dance-walk with the guitar was... charming..."

She chuckles over my neck, and if she wasn't half over me, I would have bounced off the bed.

"Charming. I like that. I was hoping you were paying attention to the lyrics, though."

"The lyrics?"

The lyrics.

"Yes, the lyrics."

The hand that was petting a little spot over my hip started moving upward, beneath my t-shirt, trailing my abs. I could feel the muscles twitching underneath her cold touch. I should have stopped her, but the intensity of my arousal had me petrified.

"Maybe if it wasn't so literal you would've thought it was more than charming."

"What is... so literal... about it?"

Geez, I can barely think. I need this to be over now.

"How wildly my heart beats when you are around. It's deafening."

She climbs over me, her body sliding over my exposed skin. I feel her thigh settle between my legs as she accomodates her weight over me. Both her hands run along my ribs, sending ripples of pleasure that erupt in a moistening place.

I feel diluted. Intoxicated.

"Quinn, what are you doing?"

"I'm sorry..."

Her voice is so deep her chest vibrates against mine. I sense my hips rise as her hands climb from my back, to my neck, to a maddening massage on my scalp. I see myself at the top of a cliff, about to dive into a raging sea of wanton.

"I can't control myself around you. I just have this need... and only you can help me."

Only I can help her. Dumbledore's face creeps back into my mind's eye. "Will you help her?" He asked that. He told me I was the only one who could do that. Because the depths we would have to go would be too much for anyone who has never seen Quinn like I did. Like I do.

She's my best friend, and she needs my help.

I put my hands around her in a forceful awkward hug, and somehow make us roll until we fall on the freezing wood floors.

"Jesus fucking Christ! At least go to the bathroom if you're gonna fuck the shit out of the Berry, Q, your heavy petting is scarring my brain so hard I'mma need shock therapy to recover!"

Santana. She wasn't asleep after all.

I sigh, still riled up, but regaining the sense that comes from using your actual brain to think. Quinn is crushed beneath me. She giggles at Santana's comment. She is such an amnesiac pervy child.

"Look, Quinn, I think you should go back to your bed."

The giggles stop.

"But it's cold."

She whines, like an adorable seven year old. I bet if I could see her, she would be pouting. Thank Barbra I cannot.

"Well, we can't share my bed if you're going to... if you're going to... if you won't let me sleep, Quinn. Sleep deprivation is one of the main causes of vocal exhaustion, and we are going to need all our prowess to restore the glee club to it's pre-Christmas break glory."

I have just proved to myself how good of an actress I can be given the circumstances. Sensible Rachel is patting my back right now. Horny Rachel is throwing a hissy fit.

"I'll let you sleep."

"No. You have to go to your bed."

There is a brief pause.

"I don't know this place... and it's really dark. Please, I won't bother you anymore."

Sensible Rachel doesn't think Quinn should be trusted, noting that her hands have the roaming tendencies of a braille reader. Horny Rachel, on the other hand, wants her trust to be violated several times, and is considering transfigurating into a braille enciclopedia of sex.

"Ok, but you have to keep your hands to yourself. And I mean that gravely, Quinn."

"Ok."

She exhales her dissapointment as I help us up and into the bed again.

I cover myself up to the neck with the comforter, curling into fetal position out of frustration. It is indeed cold tonight, but March will end soon. That is certain. Yet the endings that plague my thoughts are the ones I can't count on or even seem to fathom. Can Quinn's memories be truly restored, or is Dumbledore having way too much faith on our friendship?

I feel a warm surface against my back. It is Quinn's own.

"Thank you for everything today, Rachel. It would've been rough to do it without you."

Suddenly the night is not that cold. She falls asleep beside me, and I'm glad for this.

Everything will be better in the morning.


	4. Chapter 4

Note: Sorry for the delay again. August sort of took off with a long trip... and ended with the devil's tonsillitis. Now college has resumed classes, and since I'll be working on my thesis, updates will be sort of like this one, once a month until December. Anyway, I really wanted to thank the reviewers, everytime I read a new comment my heart drums like it's Africa, and the butterflies in my stomach go nuts. I hope you like this chapter and the ones that will come. Thanks again for reading, and for forgiving the avalanche typos.

IV

"It is a combination of legilimency manipulation with some principles of classic memory altering spells, fused into a rather frightening sculpting tool. More than just concocting a mere tabula rasa, she has crafted a persona to leave in her own body, while a complex structure of memories have been left imprisoned..."

It is delusional. Delusional. To think Quinn has accomplished a level of such magical proficiency that she would be capable to break herself in two. And it is even crazier to think that all she would do with that kind of magic is just a selfish act of immaturity. Like we all don't have things we would love to put behind a curtain that never reopens. The wrong note at the peak of a performance. The wrong quantity of ingredients in a polyjuice brew. Minds so urged they become incontrollable. The wrong words. The wrong kiss in the snow.

A strata of regrets.

Yet, how do we justify this, Quinn?

"... sealed away, never to be revisited again."

And how am I supposed to aid you out of this?

"At least, that is what she expected to happen. Every structure is meant to have an entrance. A weak spot. After all, a prison of thoughts is not made of bricks..."

Dumbledore smiles so calmly as the honey hue image in my head melts.

I feel pushed inside a spiral, about to be taken somewhere else. I'm bending, then drowning, then my foot hits something cold. Something that now rubs against it. I curl, still unsure of my sensations. My hands grip the sheets as they crawl to my chest. There is something warming my back, pouring soft breaths in my ear evenly. My eyelids are glued together, I can't open them as much as I try. My fingers touch the fabric of the t-shirt, yet I don't feel that. Something is blocking them. Something beneath my shirt.

And then I remember who I'm sleeping with.

My eyes peel open, and once the blur is gone, I see Santana standing over, a wicked smile on her face.

"The spooning sleepwalking blonde predator is coping quite a feel, huh Berry? I don't think the 'under the shirt over the bra' deal works if you aren't wearing any..."

I look down. A mess of tangled legs, the comforter, my shirt ridden up, and under it... oh God.

"LUCILLE QUINN FABRAY!"

I jump from the bed like a cat out of a tub full of water. Quinn wakes up so fast she falls back of the mattress. Santana is just cackling away.

"What's wrong, Rach?"

She pouts as she rubs her eyes and stands up.

"The nerve! You and your... curious hands have been... exploring uncharted territory again!"

Santana laughs out loud, falling on the bed.

"I don't understand what you're accusing me of, Rach, I just woke up."

"Don't feign ignorance, Fabray! I specifically told you the rule to share the bed, and you broke it by a landslide!"

She eyes me like an innocent little puppy. An innocent and wickedly manipulative little puppy.

"I was freezing, and you were trembling... so I hugged you."

"Yeah, Berry, don't be so hard on her. Cupping your breasts was just an accident. After four years of UST anyone would've slipped."

I grab a pillow and beat the crap out of Santana.

"You. Are. Not. Helping."

Then I stop and point my finger at Fabray, to get this across. I must look like a wild animal because she's paralized on her spot.

"And you... you're banished from my bed!"

Her jaw flaps, but no words come out.

"You are naughty, Quinn. Naughty!"

I leave the confused fool and the guffawing fool and head for the bathroom. Such a way to start the day.

Somehow, the thought of falling back into normalcy had not crossed my mind in what felt like an eternity. I was sort of trapped in this alternate dimension of reality where most of my days were spent worrying over Quinn's sudden cold shoulder. Days of wondering, revisiting every event that transpired during Christmas break, hoping to find something that would explain her behaviour. Days of planning absurd and corny apologetic gestures. Days of not being able to concentrate in any class because Quinn's presence became this puzzle I had to crack.

And now the puzzle cracked itself, and we are walking from breakfast to the first Charms class I intend to give my full attention to.

"Are you still not talking to me?"

She's been pouting since we left the common room, and kept it up even through a bacon filled plate of goods that she devoured in a bipolar mesh of guilt and euphoria.

I huff, giving her my best glare. Her shoulders drop again.

"Look, I'm really sorry about this morning's. But you need to explain to me why everybody is looking at us like we are some kind of rare bug."

She hushes that last part. Indeed, we were the subject of preference of the many voyeuristic students passing by.

"Because we are walking together."

She smiles as I'm forced to explain her, but when she notices my scowl, she dampers it with some faked seriousness.

"Are we supposed not to?"

Amnesia must be contagious. I was just assuming she understood this while yesterday she had trouble pronouncing Slytherin correctly. If seven years is hard to explain, imagine the last three months without context.

"Well... until yesterday we had some kind of... animosity... going between us."

"Did I touch your breasts before I started to forget things?"

I slap her arm for her deliberate insolence.

"No, because you were nowhere near being this crass before!"

She looks hurt, but then a smug smirk creeps up her lips.

"Being crass does have it's perks."

I slap her again repeatedly. She giggles... quite adorably.

"But seriously, did we have such an epic fallout for everyone to give us the stink eye?"

I swallow a big one.

"Well... the last one was kind of... dramatic?"

"The last one? You mean as in more than one?"

"I... don't know. It was a confusing period in my life."

"Well, now I'm confused. How would I ever allow myself to have a fallout with you? What happened?"

"How would I..."

My trail of thought is lost as I spot Finn Hudson approaching with a determined semblance, the sea of students slowly parting at his stride like a melodramatic perfume commercial. Amnesia is indeed contagious.

"Hi Rach."

He flashes a gentle smile, then turns to Quinn for a second.

"Quinn, it's good that you're ok."

I'm at a loss of words. The world is forwarding through this movie while I'm stuck at the starting menu.

"Rach, I know a lot of stuff's been going on lately, and I get that you were mad at me because of something I said... and I wanna make it up to you. Here..."

He hands me what he's been holding. It's a jewel box.

"... open it."

I look to Quinn. She is observing him with suspicion, and a sort of irritability.

"Finn... I..."

"Please, Rachel, it took me a lot to come up with this. At least look at it and tell me if you like it."

He is says this in such a gentle manner I'm struck dumb. I open the gift. It is a little golden chain. He lifts it to show me. It has a dangling gold star.

"I know gold stars are your thing. At first I wanted to get the two part heart thing, but I think this is cooler, like you."

This just feels... odd.

"Thank you Finn, I..."

He drops and I don't have time to catch him. His lips are on mine, kissing softly and somehow skillfully. His breath is minty, and he is caressing my cheek with so much tenderness. Between this and Quinn's lurid manners, hell has frozen over and the world is going mad.

"_Expelliarmus..._"

A soft whisper, then Finn is not kissing me anymore. He's flying over the docking students' heads, until he hits the ground a few yards away.

Quinn intense gaze has me shivering. She positions herself between me and him.

"Are you out of your mind!"

Finn shouts as he reincorporates from the floor, his legs trembling, his hood disarranged and full of dust.

"You were overstepping."

"What is wrong with you, Fabray?"

"I don't like your attitude, and you in general."

He approaches again, wand in hand.

"Lay off, Quinn, I want to talk to my girlfriend!"

Two seconds of silence, then she turns to me.

"Is Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum here really your boyfriend?"

My capacity of forming sentences has left the building... in a hurry. I try to convey something, but her staring doesn't help.

He gets nearer.

"Yes she is. Rach, please, can we have a moment to talk?"

She turns to face him and they are both staring into each other's eyes, a murderous intent clearly present.

I want to kneel and scream to the heavens just one thing: why?

"Finn..."

I duck Quinn, getting between them, and grab his hand. If she has conserved her dueling abilities as much as she has forgotten her social ones, it could get really ugly for him.

"Wait here Quinn, I'll be back in a minute."

I accentuate that last part, hoping the universe doesn't pull another one while she is unsupervised.

I drag him to an empty classroom and silently cast a charm to further prevent feeding snoopers and gossipmongers.

"What's Quinn's deal?"

Ladies, apparently. She use to hide it so well though.

"Finn, please, calm down."

"Calm down? Didn't you catch the part were I was flying like a quaffle?"

"Yes I... I saw that. I'm not here to excuse her, Finn, I'm here to talk about us."

His aggresive demeanor simmers down like magic. He lightly squeezes my fingers, noticing that I'm still holding his gift in my other hand.

"So you liked it?"

I hesitate to answer, thinking what are my chances of messing this teenage soap opera further. After all that's come to pass, I no longer understimate the possibilities of things getting eminently worse.

"Yes, Finn, it is actually lovely..."

At least I'm not lying.

"Would you let me...?"

He gestures to the little chain. I give it back to him. He unclips the pin, then gets behind me.

"I know this last days have been rough, and things with Quinn just get harder..."

Tell me about it. I watch the gold star descend in front of my eyes.

"... but I want you to know that I'm sorry for what I said. She's your friend and if something is going on, you can totally count on me, for whatever you need."

The chain goes around my neck, and I almost feel the locking pin.

"I love you, Rach."

His fingers squeeze my shoulders, and I realize that there is not enough air in my lungs. The bomb has been dropped and I was not under cover.

"I..."

I'm so confused. My brain is flooded with waves of emotions and memories. I think of Quinn, of this morning. Waking up in her arms didn't actually bother me, not as much as this exchange of words.

"Thank you, Finn..."

Come on, you can do this. You are Rachel Berry! That used to mean something to you.

"... this gift is as wonderful... as your words. It means a lot to me to know... that I have your support... as my... boyfriend."

That last word felt like chewing old gum. God, I can't believe the associations I'm making. Why am I so insentive to him inside my head. Why can't I just correspond his enthusiasm. I had always prided myself on being a phenomenal girlfriend. Barbra, why?

He comes into my field of vision, and kisses me again. It is long and drawn out. Turns out the more I kiss him the more I realize he's still sloppy, it is just the mint that makes it bearable. I'm just thankful he is not using his tongue.

The kiss ends, and he is giddy. This is awful.

"So, Quinn has forgotten stuff. Is that like in Bourne Legacy, like her past is gone?"

Well, that was unexpected... and kind of spot on for a Finn guess.

"I wouldn't know..."

"So I was thinking maybe tomorrow we and the whole glee club could go to Hogsmeade, and you know, introduce her to us again... without violent charms and stuff. Hang out, drink some butterbeer, and... I have a surprise for you there."

At this point I don't think I can handle anymore surprises. I need to quit my life for five minutes.

"Yes, that would be nice Finn."

He hugs me for a what seems like a overstretched moment, then let's me go.

"Oh, it's getting late. Do you want me to walk you to Charms?"

Quinn. Quinn is waiting outside for Charms class.

"Oh, that won't be necessary, Finn. I must... keep an eye on Quinn. You know, because of the..."

"Don't worry, I understand..."

He is too happy.

"So I'll see you tomorrow then."

He kisses me in the cheek, then heads for the door. I take a few minutes to let all of this sink in. Normalcy still feels off.

Quinn is looking at her lunch with mild disinterest, rolling the meat balls around with the fork. She has not said a word since Charms class, were she stared at my gold star necklace with a mix of disgust and fascination. Mr. Flitwick had been really enthusiastic about Quinn's return, commending her on her performance at yesterday's lunch. He even called her on to demonstrate some charm work. Somehow, despite her memory loss, she executed each one without major difficulty. Non-verbal, wandless, and perfect. Mr. Flitwick and I shared a glance of genuine astonishment across the room, as he showered the house of Slytherin with points over her feats. She even made all of the students, with the exception of myself, levitate around the ceiling in a graceful puppet like choreography. She dropped Finn at the end, of course.

I facepalmed at that.

"So... gold stars are kind of your thing, huh?"

She inquires in a mocking tone, as she drops the fork over the pasta.

"You should eat, Quinn. Our day is not finished yet, and we should be visiting Dumbledore later."

She sighs, looking over to the Hufflepuff table, were Santana is merrily chatting with Brittanny. Such an odd sight.

"That's a cute couple there. We should be like that."

I choke on a sip of ice tea.

"That way you wouldn't be mad at me for touching your breasts... and he would not be able to give you gold stars and mucky kisses."

Oh my God. Were did this woman word filter went? Is that what got damaged with the lightning?

"He wasn't mucky, Quinn. Don't talk like that about..."

"... Your boyfriend? I take it you like his technique?"

This is so not like the conversations she and I used to have at lunch. Normally we would discuss the latest acts I would like to see on and off Broadway, or the latest book she's been reading. Maybe plan the next assignments of the glee club, or organize the structure of the plays we were going to do on the drama festival in June, or the topics we would like to cover on the muggle pop culture club. Sometimes we talked about my fathers, and how all they wanted lately was to be able to come to Hogwarts, just once, and see the glee club perform with the musical magic. Sometimes we would just stay in silence, content on eachother's presence.

And now we are discussing Finn's kissing proficiency, of all things. If she wasn't an amnesiac yapper, I'm sure she would be embarrased.

"Well, you kissed him in fifth year, you tell me!"

Her face contorts in such a comical fashion. Touché!

"Oh my God!"

"You even dated him for three months!"

Her face hits the table right next to her plate. Proud Rachel is screaming victory! Concerned Rachel is wondering if that is going to leave a bump.

"I refuse to believe that! You're lying to me!"

Her voice is muffled by the wood. Then she perks, and looks at me, her face all read, her eyes pleading.

"That is too awful. You have to kiss it away."

I have to stop drinking tea around Quinn.

"What?"

She gets near, putting her lips in kissing position.

"I need your help to remove the traumatizing image you put in my head."

Why couldn't she be like this before Christmas break? This is like refusing free Broadway tickets... to front seats.

"What part of 'I have a boyfriend' is not clear'?"

She gazes directly into my eyes. The hazel is at it's most greenish, shiver inducing.

"I will duel him for you."

Inside my head there is a little girl flailing, frolicking over a rainbow, dancing her feet off in ruby slippers, bouncing in joy; and in a instant, that girl is squashed by the giant hammer of reality-bound Rachel.

"Quinn, don't be silly."

Squashed. I can almost hear the sound effect in my head, blasting over my nervous fake giggle. She glares at me, then turns around to face her plate again.

"I bet all of my gone memories that I'm a better kisser than him..."

Oh, I'd bet that too.

"... and I'm determined to prove it to you. This is not the end of this conversation."

The commanding tone of her voice is doing things to me that have me requiring a dive into the last melting snow, as it is suddenly summer under my skirt. Why am I doing this to myself? I should just give in, take her to our room, and make good adult use of the _muffliato_ charm. Just the thought makes crossing my legs necessary.

A few minutes later, the owl window opens to a gushing parliament that clouds the magical illusion of the sky in the ceiling. I wouldn't be bothered by this common ocurrence, but most of the mass of this creatures took a landing on our table, just over Quinn's half eaten lunch. She smiles and pets them, not knowing what they want.

"Why do they keep so many owls in here?"

They were delivering letters and gifts, some of the latter being far too big for the bird that carried them. Another letter issuing the abuse of this animals would have to rest over Dumbledore's desk by tomorrow. Then one little fellow lands before me, and I recognize Koopa, Noah's pet owl. He has a little note attached to his paw. I feed him a bit of my vegan banana cupcake, and take the note. Inside, scribbled in Noah's sketchy handwriting, said: "Meet me at Hagrid's after lunch". I look over to Griffindor's table searching for a mohawk, but he is not there, which is unusual. Instead I catch Finn. He smiles and winks my way as another owl drops a bouquet of red roses in my lap before crashing purposely against the doughnuts basket. That's Master Chief, Finn's owl. I examine the bouquet, feeling guilty over previous lurid imaginings, and take the post-it tied to it. It reads: "Theres not enuff roses 4 a star like u". I don't know what to feel anymore. Recurring to absolute gut sincerity, I want to punch Quinn, grab a sharpie and mark apostrophes all over Finn's face, then run outside and embrace the whomping willow like a narcotics ridden Sound of Music's Maria. Guess that will have to remain a desperate fantasy for now.

Minutes later I'm stepping over slippery melted snow, moving towards Noah's rendezvous spot. Beside me, Quinn is playing with her puffing breath, recalling how much fun she had with the owls, her admirers' letters left untouched.

"So... where are we going?"

There's a air of suspicion in her inquiry.

"Is this an oafish boyfriend related business?"

If it weren't so cold today, I'd punch her.

"My boyfriend is not oafish! And no, this is not related to him. I also have other friends, Quinn, and since I consider myself an apt friend, I tend to them too."

I think her cheeks colored a bit rosier, but it could be the winter-spring transition in Maine.

"I'm sorry, I did not mean it that way."

She bites her lips in this beautiful shy way, and I'm a bit mesmerized.

"Anyway, who is this friend? Am I supposed to know himf like I'm supposed to know the glee kids?"

"Noah is a member of the glee club too."

"That's sort of our niche, huh?"

"We do far more than just glee, Quinn. But... I guess we could say that this one club is an intrinsic part of our history."

"Since when?"

"Third year."

The memories she no longer posseses come rushing back to me.

"That was a complicated year. It required me to become a master in the art of persuation."

Quinn laughs out loud. I glare in her direction, but she's not mocking me at all.

"How hard can it be to convince people to join a singing club? It's too much fun to reject."

Oh, the irony.

"You were the hardest to convince."

She stops on her tracks.

"What?!"

"You heard me. Those days you cared way too much about your status and reputation, and would've never considered joining glee club. You were lucky that I indeed mastered my powers of persuation."

I still feel proud about such an accomplishment. The glee club needed an asset like Quinn to keep afloat in the social spheres of the school.

"I'm concerned."

She states with a sort of innocent gravity, snapping me back to the present.

"Why?"

"The more of my past it's revealed, the less I can recognize any trace of myself. As if there was a missing link between past and present me."

Suddenly it gets harder to swallow.

"It's really weird, Rach."

"Don't be so alarmed. Third year was four years ago. People change, and we went through a lot so... it's just natural that we're not the same."

"I guess. Yet you also talked about recent fallouts between us. I cannot conceive that either. I would never do anything to push you away from me, would I?"

I don't know how to answer that. It kind of hurts to see it dawning on her face.

"I would. I did. That is why we are not as close as I thought we ought to be."

I wish there was something I could say to comfort her, but my mind went sadly blank.

The afternoon cold accentuates as I continue walking. She stays silent. In the distance, the smoke of Hagrid's chimney becomes visible. Minutes later I see our big teacher merrily exchanging words with Noah. They both notice us and wave, then signal to the hut. I thank Barbra because it's too cold out here.

"There's my jew princess."

Noah envelops me into a calming and warm hug. I pull back to notice Hagrid coming on, a huge grin making room in his bushy beard.

"Rachel, Quinn! You girls had me so worried."

My lungs constrict as our teacher hugs both Quinn and I. When he lets us go, Quinn is smiling again, our bleak conversation forgotten... maybe.

"Well, I think the weather calls for some hot tea. Come in! By the way, that was some impressive magic you did the other day, with the lighting and all..."

The door to the hut opens as our teacher chit chats with the pretty amnesiac blonde. I'm about to follow when Noah takes me apart from them. He pulls me back to the dirt road, and we walk in silence for a little while, heading in the direction of the training grounds.

"So, how are you doing?"

He tries to appear casual, but acting has never been one of his gifts.

"I'm fine, Noah, thank you."

My precious gift, on the other hand, is apparently eroding.

"C'mon, we both know that's a bunch of BS."

I take a look at his profile. He swallows audibly.

"How would you prefer that I answered that?"

"The truth could be a good start."

"I don't know how I feel. That's the best answer I have right now."

We keep walking for a while. Noah is hunched over, the vivacious glint in his eyes dulled, his boots half kicking the dirt.

"So... she doesn't remember anything?"

"Spells. Some songs. Guitar skills. She is not handicapped, she can fend for herself, but she doesn't remember glee, or her friends, or the school. It's a mystery how much was wiped out of her mind."

My eyes sting again, and I don't dare look at Noah.

"What did Dumbledore said?"

That she willingly did it. That she wanted this.

"I don't know if I know how to explain it. I have to take her to him again after class."

"It wasn't because of the lighting, Rach. She didn't look like herself that night."

Ever since that afternoon at Dumbledore's I have longed for someone to ruminate through this topic, just to see if I even understand it. But telling Noah the little I know without grasping it feels utterly wrong.

"We should go back. It's freezing out here."

I just hope he understands.

The hand resting in his pocket circles my shoulders, and we walk the whole way back like this.

As we get to the hut, the door opens.

"Miss Berry, we were just wondering were you had gone! Mister Puckerman..."

Dumbledore descends the choppy stone steps, lifting a helping hand to Quinn once he's down. It takes me a while to gather some air.

"Professor. What brings you here?"

He smiles.

"I thought a little hot tea and good company would do wonders for me on such a chilly afternoon."

"We were talking about the owls, and Professor Dumbledore told me they were a sort of feathery postmen. I should check my mail later."

She comes closer, then notices Noah's embrace. She looks up to his face, staring in a expressionless fashion. She doesn't recognize him.

"Did you tend to your friend?"

She asks without malice, caressing my cheek. I feel her magic warming the spot she touched, a sensation which then extends to my face, to my neck, and then to my whole body.

I grip her lukewarm fingers, gazing into her eyes.

"Yes... yes I did. Quinn, this is Noah."

He retracts his arm from me and extends his hand to her.

"But you can call me Puck. At both your hot ladies' service anytime."

He wiggles his eyebrows. Quinn remains unimpressed while I give him the "are you freaking kidding me" glare.

"Well, this was certainly lovely, but I think we should get going. Miss Berry, Miss Fabray."

Dumbledore sets to go back to the castle. Quinn smiles again and pulls me up the road. The party of us march away on the gravy pathway as Dumbledore and Quinn engage in animated conversation. I turn one last time to see Noah. His soft smile slowly fades as the distance grows.

I don't know why I expected to get back to the headmaster's office, that's asking the world to actually function with some sense of logic. Instead, Dumbledore is turning the handle and opening the door to the room of requirement.

"Do you remember the things I explained to you yesterday, Miss Berry?"

Legilimency manipulation... memory altering spells... a frightening sculpting tool...

"Yes, professor..."

The room is deserted from it's typical landscape of misplaced gizmos, our steps echo up to the high ceilings. My eyes are locked to the back of the headmaster's emerald tunic, which flows with his calms steps, then halts.

"If you recall, we talked about a prison of thoughts."

He steps aside, and the emerald is superseded by the vision of a fountain like device filled with a silvery liquid that glows in several shades of blue. The pensieve.

"This is it."

It's not even a question. She purged herself in there, all that she didn't like about herself, all that she could not bear to have in her head. I take a step closer until a cold hand stops me.

"I don't feel so good."

I turn to see Quinn. Her brow is scrunched and a drop of sweat is sliding down her forehead. She suddenly bends over and barfs.

"Oh God, Quinn!"

I tend to her as she tries to recuperate from the spasms.

"Are you not feeling ill, Miss Berry?"

Dumbledore sounds so casual despite Quinn's sudden sickness, it's maddening.

"No, I'm fine! We should take Quinn to the infirmary."

"That won't be necessary, Miss Berry. Miss Fabray only needs to stand ten steps away from it."

He points to the pensieve. It hits me quickly.

"It's hexed? Quinn hexed the pensieve?"

I help Quinn to her feet, and drag her away from the artifact.

"Indeed, it is. My stomach too is turning wildly. But you don't look affected."

Ten steps.

"Quinn, are you ok?"

She coughs a little, lifting her weight away from me.

"I feel better now. But that was really intense. Didn't you feel it?"

I pet her back, hoping to sooth her, and look to Dumbledore.

"I did not feel a thing."

"That is because the pensieve is not rejecting you. As I thought, you would be able to use it, to see inside it..."

To see inside it. Inside Quinn.

"... and, maybe, to bring the two of them together again."

Quinn's hand closes tighly around mine.

"This is so weird."

She mutters, reading my mind... as I'm supposed to read hers.

"Have you ever read about how a pensieve works?"

"Yes."

"Well, it could be useful, but the best thing you can do is forget that. Instead, Miss Fabray once told me you were a superb legilimens."

"Not nearly as good as her."

"That is not what she told me. Legilimency techniques should be useful, since the pensieve can be now thought of as a part of Quinn's mind. A very complex part."

"Yes, but how am I going to reunite Quinn with her memories?"

"Thought by thought. If you can get in, you could take some out everytime. That is where the pensieve becomes useful, since all you have to do is pour the silvery lines back to Miss Fabray's head."

This is too much. Too much. My stomach just hit an iceberg and is sinking with both DiCaprio and Winslet. What the fuck were you thinking, Quinn!

"So, I have to dive into Quinn's head, pull out her memories, them pour them over her once I get out?"

"That is if you manage to navigate through them."

"I can't do this. This is crazy. This is not what Hogwarts has prepared me all this years for."

My head is spinning. My emotions are pulling me in a million directions, all of them away from this room. Christmas break, legilimency, cold shoulders, lightning, Pearl Jam, Finn, the infirmary, her nakedness, crassness, necklaces, warm, madness.

I can't do this.

"I'm so sorry, Quinn."

Her worrisome expression is blurred from my vision. My eyes sting in humidity as I turn to leave the two of them, this room, and the ghost that dwells in the waves of silver.


End file.
